MYSTERY 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 


KOSALlli    Lli    i:,KA\(;lC 


AN   EPISODE    IN    THE  CAREER   OF 
ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE,  CLAIRVOYANT 


BY 
WILL  IRWIN 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
FREDERICK  C.   YOHN 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1910 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published,  March,  1910 


CONTENTS 

MOB 

i  The  Unknown  Girl 3 

ii  Mr.  Norcross  Wastes  Time   ....  26 

ni  The    Light 43 

iv  His  First  Call 66 

v  The  Light  Wavers 81 

vi  Enter  Rosalie  Le  Grange       .      .      .      .100 

VH  Rosalie's  First  Report 180 

vni  The  Fish  Nibbles 145 

ix  Rosalie's  Second  Report 169 

x  The  Streams  Converge 182 

xi  Through  the  Wall-Paper 193 

xn  Annette   Lies 206 

xin  Annette  Tells  the  Truth 221 

xiv  Mainly  from  the  Papers 249 


2136532 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Rosalie  le  Grange Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Annette 8 

"  It  was  n't  the  money;  it  was  the  game — "  .      38 

He  had  taken  an  impression  of  mental  power 
as  startling  as  a  sudden  blow  in  the  face   .      74 

"  Then  it 's  as  good  as  done  " 128 

Norcross's  breath  came  a  little  faster  .       .       .154 

"  I   was   looking   straight   down   on   the   back 
parlors  " 178 

"  Stay  where  you  are/'  he  commanded   .      .   232 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 


THE    HOUSE    OF 
MYSTERY 


THE   UNKNOWN   GIRL 

TN  a  Boston  and  Albany  parlor-car, 
•*•  east  bound  through  the  Berkshires,  sat 
a  young-  man  respectfully,  but  intently 
studying  a  young  woman.  Now  and 
then,  from  the  newspapers  heaped  in 
mannish  confusion  about  his  chair,  he 
selected  another  sheet.  Always,  he  took 
advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  face  the 
chair  across  the  aisle  and  to  sweep  a  glance 
over  a  piquant  little  profile,  intent  on  a 
sober-looking  book.  Again,  he  would 
gaze  out  of  the  window;  and  he  gazed 
oftenest  when  a  freight  train  hid  the 
beauties  of  outside  nature.  The  dun  sides 
of  freight  cars  make  out  of  a  window  a 
3 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

passable  mirror.  Twice,  in  those  dim  and 
confused  glimpses,  he  caught  just  a  flicker 
of  her  eye  across  her  book,  as  though,  she, 
on  her  part,  were  studying  him. 

It  was  her  back  hair  which  had  first 
entangled  Dr.  Blake's  thoughts;  it  was 
the  graceful  nape  of  her  neck  which  had 
served  to  hold  them  fast.  When  the 
hair  and  the  neck  below  dawned  on  him, 
he  identified  her  as  that  blonde  girl  whom 
he  had  noted  at  the  train  gate,  waving 
farewell  to  some  receding  friend — and 
noted  with  approval.  As  a  traveler  on 
many  seas  and  much  land,  he  knew  the 
lonely  longing  to  address  the  woman  in 
the  next  seat.  He  knew  also,  as  all 
seasoned  travelers  in  America  know,  that 
such  desire  is  sometimes  gratified,  and 
without  any  surrender  of  decency,  in  the 
frank  and  easy  West — but  never  east  of 
Chicago.  This  girl,  however,  exercised 
somehow,  a  special  pull  upon  his  attention 
and  his  imagination.  And  he  found  him 
self  playing  a  game  by  which  he  had 
4 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

mitigated  many  a  journey  of  old.  He 
divided  his  personality  into  two  parts- 
man  and  physician — and  tried,  by  each 
separate  power,  to  find  as  much  as  he 
could  from  surface  indications  about  this 
travel-mate  of  his. 

Mr.  Walter  Huntington  Blake  per 
ceived,  besides  the  hair  like  dripping 
honey,  deep  blue  eyes — the  blue  not  of  a 
turquoise  but  of  a  sapphire — and  an 
oval  face  a  little  too  narrow  in  the  jaw, 
so  that  the  chin  pointed  a  delicate  Gothic 
arch.  He  noted  a  good  forehead,  which 
inclined  him  to  the  belief  that  she  "did" 
something — some  subtle  addition  which 
he  could  not  formulate  confirmed  that 
observation.  He  saw  that  her  hands  were 
long  and  tipped  with  nails  no  larger  than 
a  grain  of  maize,  that  when  they  rested 
for  a  moment  on  her  face,  in  the  shift 
ing  attitudes  of  her  reading,  they  fell 
as  gently  as  flower-stalks  swaying  to 
gether  in  a  breeze.  He  saw  that  her 
shoulders  had  a  slight  slope,  which  com- 
5 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

bined  with  hands  and  eyes  to  express  a 
being  all  feminine — the  kind  made  for 
a  lodestone  to  a  man  who  has  known  the 
hard  spots  of  the  world,  like  Mr.  Walter 
Huntington  Blake. 

"A  pippin!"  pronounced  Mr.  Blake, 
the  man. 

Dr.  Blake,  the  physician,  on  the  other 
hand,  caught  a  certain  languor  in  her 
movements,  a  physical  tenuity  which,  in 
a  patient,  he  would  have  considered  diag 
nostic.  So  transparent  was  her  skin  that 
when  her  profile  dipped  forward  across 
a  bar  of  sunshine  the  light  shone  through 
the  bridge  of  her  nose — a  little  observa 
tion  charming  to  Blake,  the  man,  but  a 
guide  to  Blake,  the  physician.  She  had 
the  look,  Dr.  Blake  told  himself,  which 
old-fashioned  country  nurses  of  the  herb- 
doctor  school  refer  to  as  ''called."  He 
knew  that,  in  about  one  case  out  of 
three,  that  look  does  in  fact  amount  to 
a  real  "call" — the  outward  expression  of 
an  obscure  disease. 

"Her  heart?"  queried  Blake,  the  physi- 
6 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

cian.  The  transparent,  porcelain  quality 
of  her  skin  would  indicate  that.  But 
he  found,  as  he  watched,  no  nervous 
twitching,  no  look  as  of  an  incipient  sack 
under  her  eyes;  nor  did  the  transparent 
quality  seem  waxy.  There  was,  too,  a 
certain  pinkness  in  the  porcelain  which 
showed  that  her  blood  ran  red  and  pure. 
Then  Mr.  Blake  and  Dr.  Blake  re 
fused  into  one  psychology  and  decided 
that  her  appearance  of  delicacy  was 
subtly  psychological.  It  haunted  him 
with  an  irritating  effect  of  familiarity— 
as  of  a  symptom  which  he  ought  to  recog 
nize.  In  all  ways  was  it  intertwined  with 
the  expression  of  her  mouth.  She  had 
never  smiled  enough;  therein  lay  all  the 
trouble.  She  presented  a  very  pretty 
problem  to  his  imagination.  Here  she 
was,  still  so  very  young  that  little  was 
written  on  her  face,  yet  the  little,  some 
thing  unusual,  baffling.  The  mouth,  too 
tightly  set,  too  drooping — that  expressed 
it  all.  To  educate  such  a  one  in  the  ways 
of  innocent  frivolity! 
7 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

When  the  porter's  "last  call  for  lunch 
eon"  brought  that  flutter  of  satisfaction 
by  which  a  bored  parlor  car  welcomes 
even  such  a  trivial  diversion  as  food,  Dr. 
Blake  waited  a  fair  interval  for  her 
toilet  preparations,  and  followed  toward 
the  dining  car.  He  smiled  a  little  at 
himself  as  he  realized  that  he  was  craftily 
scheming  to  find  a  seat,  if  not  opposite 
her,  at  least  within  seeing  distance.  On 
a  long  and  lonely  day- journey,  he  told 
himself,  travelers  are  like  invalids — the 
smallest  incident  rolls  up  into  a  mountain 
of  adventure.  Here  he  was,  playing  for 
sight  of  an  interesting  girl,  as  another 
traveler  timed  the  train-speed  by  the  mile- 
posts,  or  counted  the  telegraph  poles 
along  the  way. 

So  he  came  out  suddenly  into  the  Pull 
man  car  ahead — and  almost  stumbled  over 
the  nucleus  of  his  meditations.  She  was 
half -kneeling  beside  a  seat,  clasping  in 
her  arms  the  figure  of  a  little,  old  woman. 
He  hesitated,  stock  still.  The  blonde 
girl  shifted  her  position  as  though  to 
8 


ANNKTTli 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

take  better  hold  of  her  burden,  and 
glanced  backward  with  a  look  of  appeal. 
The  doctor  came  forward  on  that;  and 
his  sight  caught  the  face  of  the  old 
woman.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  head 
had  dropped  to  one  side  and  lay  supine 
upon  the  girl's  shoulder.  It  appeared  to 
be  a  plain  case  of  faint. 

"I  am  a  physician,"  he  said  simply, 
"Get  the  porter,  will  you?"  Without  an 
instant's  question  or  hesitation,  the  girl 
permitted  him  to  relieve  her,  and  turned 
to  the  front  of  the  car.  Other  women 
and  one  fussy,  noisy  man  were  coming 
up  now.  Dr.  Blake  waved  them  aside. 
"We  need  air  most  of  all — open  that  win 
dow,  will  you?"  The  girl  was  back  with 
the  porter.  "Is  the  compartment  occu 
pied?  Then  open  it.  We  must  put  her 
on  her  back."  The  porter  fumbled  for 
his  keys.  Dr.  Blake  gathered  up  the 
little  old  woman  in  his  arms,  and  spoke 
over  his  shoulder  to  the  blonde  girl: 

"You  will  come  with  us?"  She  nod 
ded.  Somehow,  he  felt  that  he  would 
9 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

have  picked  her  from  the  whole  car  to 
assist  in  this  emergency.  She  was  like 
one  of  those  born  trained  nurses  who  ask 
no  questions,  need  no  special  directions, 
and  are  as  reliable  as  one's  instruments. 

The  old  woman  was  stirring  by  the 
time  he  laid  her  out  on  the  sofa  of  the 
compartment.  He  wet  a  towel  in  the 
pitcher  at  the  washstand,  wrung  it  out, 
pressed  it  on  her  forehead.  It  needed 
no  more  than  that  to  bring  her  round. 

"Only  a  faint,"  said  Dr.  Blake;  "the 
day  's  hot  and  she 's  not  accustomed  to 
train  travel,  I  suppose.  Is  she — does  she 
belong  to  your  party?" 

The  girl  spoke  for  the  first  time  in  his 
hearing.  Even  before  he  seized  the 
meaning  of  her  speech,  he  noted  with  a 
thrill  the  manner  of  it.  Such  a  physique 
as  this  should  go  with  the  high,  silvery 
tone  of  a  flute;  so  one  always  imagines 
it.  This  girl  spoke  in  the  voice  of  a 
violin — soft,  deep,  deliciously  resonant. 
In  his  mind  flashed  a  picture  for  which 
he  was  a  long  time  accounting — last  win- 
10 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

ter's  ballet  of  the  New  York  Hippo 
drome.  Afterward,  he  found  the  key  to 
that  train  of  thought.  It  had  been  a 
ballet  of  light,  shimmering  colors,  until 
suddenly  a  troop  of  birds  in  royal  purple 
had  slashed  their  way  down  the  center  of 
the  stage.  They  brought  the  same  glori 
fied  thrill  of  contrast  as  this  soft  but 
strong  contralto  voice  proceeding  from 
that  delicate  blondness. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said,  "I  never  saw  her 
before.  She  was  swaying  as  I  came 
down  the  aisle,  and  I  caught  her.  She  's 
— she 's  awake."  The  old  woman  had 
stirred  again. 

"Get  my  bag  from  seat  12,  parlor  car," 
said  Dr.  Blake  to  the  porter.  "Tell  them 
outside  that  it  is  a  simple  fainting-spell 
and  we  shall  need  no  assistance."  Now 
his  charity  patient  had  recovered  voice; 
she  was  moaning  and  whimpering.  The 
girl,  obeying  again  Dr.  Blake's  unspoken 
thought,  took  a  quick  step  toward  the 
door.  He  understood  without  further 
word  from  her. 

11 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"All  right,"  he  said;  "she  may  want 
to  discuss  symptoms.  You  're  on  the  way 
to  the  dining  car  aren't  you?  I'll  be 
along  in  five  minutes,  and  I  '11  let  you 
know  how  she  is.  Tell  them  outside  that 
it  is  nothing  serious  and  have  the  porter 
stand  by — please."  That  last  word  of 
politeness  came  out  on  an  afterthought 
—he  had  been  addressing  her  in  the 
capacity  of  a  trained  nurse.  He  recog 
nized  this  with  confusion,  and  he  apolo 
gized  by  a  smile  which  illuminated  his 
rather  heavy,  dark  face.  She  answered 
with  the  ghost  of  a  smile — it  moved  her 
eyes  rather  than  her  mouth — and  the  door 
closed. 

After  five  minutes  of  perfunctory  ex 
amination  and  courteous  attention  to 
symptoms,  he  tore  himself  away  from  his 
patient  upon  the  pretext  that  she  needed 
quiet.  He  wasted  three  more  golden 
minutes  in  assuring  his  fellow  passengers 
that  it  was  nothing.  He  escaped  to  the 
dining  car,  to  find  that  the  delay  had 
favored  him.  Her  honey-colored  back 
12 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

hair  gleamed  from  one  of  the  narrow 
tables  to  left  of  the  aisle.  The  uncon- 
sidered  man  opposite  her  had  just  laid 
a  bill  on  the  waiter's  check,  and  dipped 
his  hands  in  the  fingerbowl.  Dr.  Blake 
invented  a  short  colloquy  with  the  con 
ductor  and  slipped  up  just  as  the  waiter 
returned  with  the  change.  He  bent  over 
the  girl. 

"I  have  to  report,"  said  he,  "that  the 
patient  is  doing  nicely;  doctor  and  nurse 
are  both  discharged!" 

She  returned  a  grave  smile  and  an 
swered  conventionally,  "I  am  very  glad." 

At  that  precise  moment,  the  man  across 
the  table,  as  though  recognizing  friend 
ship  or  familiarity  between  these  two, 
pocketed  his  change  and  rose.  Feeling 
that  he  was  doing  the  thing  awkwardly, 
that  he  would  give  a  year  for  a  light 
word  to  cover  up  his  boldness,  Dr.  Blake 
took  the  seat.  He  looked  slowly  up  as 
he  settled  himself,  and  he  could  feel  the 
heat  of  a  blush  on  his  temples.  He  per 
ceived — and  for  a  moment  it  did  not 
13 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

reassure  him — that  she  on  her  part  neither 
blushed  nor  bristled.  Her  skin  kept  its 
transparent  whiteness,  and  her  eyes  looked 
into  his  with  intent  gravity.  Indeed,  he 
felt  through  her  whole  attitude  the  per 
fect  frankness  of  good  breeding — a 
frankness  which  discouraged  familiarity 
while  accepting  with  human  simplicity  an 
accidental  contact  of  the  highway.  She 
was  the  better  gentleman  of  the  two. 
His  renewed  confusion  set  him  to  talking 
fast. 

"If  it  were  n't  that  you  failed  to  come 
in  with  any  superfluous  advice,  I  should 
say  that  you  had  been  a  nurse — you  seem 
to  have  the  instinct.  You  take  hold, 
somehow,  and  make  no  fuss." 

"Why  should  I?"  she  asked,  "with  a 
doctor  at  hand?  I  was  thinking  all  the 
time  how  you  lean  on  a  doctor.  I  should 
never  have  known  what  to  do.  How  is 
she?  What  was  the  matter?" 

"She  's  resting.  It  is  n't  every  elderly 
lady  who  can  get  a  compartment  from 
the  Pullman  Company  for  the  price  of 
14 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

a  seat.  She  was  put  on  at  Albany  by 
one  set  of  grandchildren  and  she 's  to 
be  taken  off  at  Boston  by  another  set. 
And  she  's  old  and  her  heart 's  a  little 
sluggish — self-sacrifice  goes  downward 
not  upward,  through  the  generations,  I 
observe — though  I  'm  a  young  physician 
at  that!" 

Her  next  words,  simply  spoken  as  they 
were,  threw  him  again  into  confusion. 

"I  don't  know  your  name,  I  think — 
mine  is  Annette  Markham." 

Dr.  Blake  drew  out  a  card. 

"Dr.  W.  H.  Blake,  sometime  contract 
surgeon  to  the  Philippine  Army  of  Occu 
pation,"  he  supplemented,  "now  looking 
for  a  practice  in  these  United  States!" 

"The  Philippines — oh,  you  Ve  been  in 
the  East?  When  we  were  in  the  Orient, 
I  used  to  hear  of  them  ever  so  dimly 
— I  did  n't  think  we  'd  all  be  talking  of 
them  so  soon — " 

"Oh,  you  Ve  been  in  the  Orient — do 
you  know  the  China  Coast — and  Nikko 
and—" 

15 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"No,  only  India." 

"I  Ve  never  been  there — and  I  've  heard 
it 's  the  kernel  of  the  East,"  he  said  with 
his  lips.  But  his  mind  was  puzzling 
something  out  and  finding  a  solution. 
The  accent  of  that  deep,  resonant  voice 
was  neither  Eastern  nor  Western,  Yan 
kee  nor  Southern — nor  yet  quite  British. 
It  was  rather  cosmopolitan — he  had  dimly 
placed  her  as  a  Californienne.  Perhaps 
this  fragment  explained  it.  She  must 
be  a  daughter  of  the  English  official 
class,  reared  in  America.  The  theory 
would  explain  her  complexion  and  her 
simple,  natural  balance  between  frankness 
and  reserve.  He  formed  that  conclusion, 
but,  "How  do  you  like  America  after 
India?"  was  all  he  said. 

"How  do  you  like  it  after  the  Philip 
pines?"  she  responded. 

"That  is   a  Yankee  trick — answering 

one  question  with  another,"  he  said,  still 

following  his  line  of  conjecture;  "it  was 

invented  by  the  original  Yankee  philoso- 

16 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

pher,  a  person  named  Socrates.  I  like  it 
after  everything — I  'm  an  American. 
I  'm  one  of  those  rare  birds  in  the  Eastern 
United  States,  a  native  of  New  York 
City." 

"Well,  then," — her  manner  had,  for  the 
first  time,  the  brightness  which  goes  with 
youth,  plus  the  romantic  adventure — "I 
like  it  not  only  after  anything  but  before 
anything — I  'm  an  American,  too." 

A  sense  of  irritation  rose  in  him.  He 
had  let  conjecture  grow  to  conclusion  in 
the  most  reckless  fashion.  And  why 
should  he  care  so  much  that  he  had  risked 
offending  a  mere  passing  acquaintance 
of  the  road? 

"Somehow,  I  had  taken  it  for  granted 
—your  reference  to  India  I  suppose — 
that  you  were  English." 

"Oh,  no!  Though  an  English  gov 
erness  made  me  fond  of  the  English. 
I  'm  another  of  the  rare  birds.  I  was 
hardly  out  of  New  York  in  my  life  until 
five  years  ago,  when  my  aunt  took  me 
17 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

for  a  stay  of  two  years  in  the  Orient — 
in  India  at  least.  I  Ve  been  very  happy 
to  be  back." 

The  current  of  talk  drifted  then  from 
the  coast  of  confidences  to  the  open  sea 
of  general  conversation.  He  pulled  him 
self  up  once  or  twice  by  the  reflection 
that  he  was  talking  too  much  about  him 
self.  Once — and  he  remembered  it  with 
blushes  afterward — he  went  so  far  as  to 
say,  "I  did  n't  really  need  to  be  a  doc 
tor,  any  more  than  I  needed  to  go  to 
the  Philippines — the  family  income  takes 
care  of  that.  But  a  man  should  do  some 
thing."  Nevertheless,  she  seemed  dis 
posed  to  encourage  him  in  this  course, 
seemed  most  to  encourage  him  when  he 
told  his  stories  about  the  Philippine 
Army  of  Occupation. 

"Oh,  tell  me  another!"  she  would  cry. 
And  once  she  said,  "If  there  were  a  piano 
here,  I  venture  you  'd  sing  Mandelay." 
"That  would  I,"  he  answered  with  a  half 
sigh.  And  at  last,  when  he  was  running 
down,  she  said,  "Oh,  please  don't  stop! 
18 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

It  makes  me  crazy  for  the  Orient!" 
"And  me!"  he  confessed.  Before  lunch 
eon  was  over,  he  had  dragged  out  the  two 
or  three  best  stories  in  his  wanderer's  pack, 
and  especially  that  one,  which  he  saved 
for  late  firesides  and  the  high  moments 
of  anecdotal  exchange,  about  the  charge 
at  Caloocon.  She  drank  down  these  tales 
of  hike  and  jungle  and  firing-line  like  a 
seminary  girl  listening  to  her  first  grown 
up  caller.  For  his  part,  youth  and  the 
need  of  male  youth  to  spread  its  bright 
feathers  before  the  female  of  its  species, 
drove  him  on  to  more  tales.  He  contrived 
his  luncheon  so  that  they  finished  and  paid 
simultaneously — and  in  the  middle  of  his 
story  about  Sergeant  Jones,  the  dynamite 
and  the  pack  mule.  So,  when  they 
returned  to  the  parlor  car,  nothing  was 
more  simple,  natural  and  necessary  than 
that  he  should  drop  into  the  vacant  chair 
beside  her,  and  continue  where  he  left 
off.  He  felt,  when  he  had  finished,  the 
polite  necessity  of  leading  the  talk  back 
to  her;  besides,  he  had  not  finished  his 
19 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Study  of  the  Unknown  Girl.  He  re 
turned,  then,  to  the  last  thread  which  she 
had  left  hanging. 

"So  you  too  are  glad  to  be  at  home!" 
he  said.  "I  'm  so  glad  that  I  don't  want 
to  lose  sight  either  of  a  skyscraper  or 
of  apple  trees  for  years  and  years.  I 
can't  remember  when  I  've  ever  wanted 
to  stay  in  one  place  before." 

She  laughed — the  first  full  laugh  he 
had  heard  from  her.  It  was  low  and  deep 
and  bubbling,  like  water  flowing  from  a 
long-necked  bottle. 

"Just  a  moment  ago,  we  were  con 
fessing  that  we  were  crazy  for  the 
Orient." 

"I  'm  glad  to  be  caught  in  an  incon 
sistency!"  he  answered.  "I've  been 
afraid,  though,  that  this  desire  to  roost 
in  one  place  was  a  sign  of  incipient  old 
age." 

She  looked  at  him  directly,  and  for  a 
moment  her  fearless  glance  played  over 
him,  as  in  alarm. 

"Oh,  I  should  n't  be  afraid  of  that,"  she 
20 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

said.  "I  don't  know  your  age,  of  course, 
but  if  it  will  reassure  you  any,  I  'd  put 
it  at  twenty-eight.  And  that,  according 
to  Peter  Ibbertson,  is  quite  the  nicest 
age."  Her  face,  with  its  unyouthful 
capacity  for  sudden  seriousness,  grew 
grave.  Her  deep  blue  eyes  gazed  past 
him  out  of  the  window. 

"I  'm  only  twenty-four,  but  I  know 
what  it  is  to  think  that  middle  age  is  near 
— to  dread  it — especially  when  I  half 
suspect  I  have  n't  spent  the  interest  on  my 
youth."  She  stopped. 

Dr.  Blake  held  his  very  breath.  His 
instincts  warned  him  that  she  faltered  at 
one  of  those  instincts  when  confidence  lies 
close  to  the  lips.  But  she  did  not  give 
it.  Instead,  she  caught  herself  up  with 
a  perfunctory,  "I  suppose  everyone  feels 
that  way  at  times." 

Although  he  wanted  that  confidence, 
he  was  clever  enough  not  to  reach  for  it 
at  this  point.  Instead,  he  took  a  wide 
detour,  and  returned  slowly,  backing  and 
filling  to  the  point.  But  every  time  that 
21 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

he  approached  a  closer  intimacy,  she 
veered  away  with  an  adroitness  which  was 
consummate  art  or  consummate  innocence. 
His  first  impression  grew — that  she  "did" 
something.  She  had  mentioned  "Peter 
Ibbertson."  He  spoke,  then,  of  books. 
She  had  read  much,  especially  fiction ;  but 
she  treated  books  as  one  who  does  not 
write.  He  talked  art.  Though  she 
spoke  with  originality  and  understanding 
in  response  to  his  second-hand  studio 
chatter,  he  could  see  that  she  neither 
painted  nor  associated  much  with  those 
who  did.  Besides,  her  hands  had  none 
of  the  craftswoman's  muscle.  Of  music 
—beyond  ragtime — she  knew  as  little  as 
he.  He  invaded  business — her  ignorance 
was  abysmal.  The  stage — she  could 
count  on  her  fingers  the  late  plays  which 
she  had  seen. 

When  the  trail  had  grown  almost  cold, 

there  happened  a  little  incident  which  put 

him  on  the  scent  again.     He  had  thought 

suddenly  of  his  patient  in  the  compart - 

22 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

ment  and  made  a  visit,  only  to  find  her 
asleep.  Upon  his  return  he  said: 

"You  behaved  like  a  soldier  and  a 
nurse  toward  her — a  girl  with  such  a  dis 
tinct  flair  for  the  game  must  have  had 
longings  to  take  up  nursing — or  perhaps 
you  never  read  'Sister  Dora'?" 

"I  did  read  'Sister  Dora,'"  she  an 
swered,  "and  I  was  crazy  about  it." 

"Most  girls  are — hence  the  high  death 
rate  in  hospitals,"  he  interrupted. 

"But  I  gave  that  up — and  a  lot  of  other 
desires  which  all  girls  have — for  some 
thing  else.  I  had  to."  Her  sapphirine 
eyes  searched  the  Berkshire  hills  again, 
"Something  bigger  and  nobler — some 
thing  which  meant  the  entire  sacrifice  of 
self." 

And  here  the  brakeman  called  "Next 
station  is  Berkeley  Center."  Dr.  Blake 
came  to  the  sudden  realization  that  they 
had  reached  his  destination.  She  started, 
too. 

"Why,  I  get  off  here!"  she  exclaimed. 
23 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"And  so  do  I!"  He  almost  laughed 
it  out. 

"That 's  a  coincidence." 

Dr.  Blake  refrained  from  calling  her 
attention  to  the  general  flutter  of  the  par 
lor  car  and  the  industry  of  two  porters. 
This  being  the  high-tide  time  of  the  sum 
mer  migration,  and  Berkeley  Center 
being  the  popular  resort  on  that  line, 
nearly  everyone  was  getting  off.  How 
ever  as  he  delivered  himself  over  to  the 
porter,  he  nodded: 

"The  climax  of  a  series!" 

As  they  waited,  bags  in  hand,  "I  am  on 
my  way  to  substitute  for  a  month  at  the 
Hill  Sanatorium,"  he  said.  "The  assistant 
physician  is  going  on  a  vacation — I  sup 
pose  the  ambulance  will  be  waiting." 

"And  I  am  going  to  the  Mountain 
House — it 's  a  little  place  and  more  the 
house  of  friends  than  an  inn.  If  your 
work  permits- 
He  interrupted  with  a  boyish  laugh. 

"Oh,  it  will!"  But  he  said  good-bye 
at  the  vestibule  with  a  vague  idea  that  she 
24 


THE  UNKNOWN  GIRL 

might  have  trouble  explaining  him  to  any 
very  particular  friends.  He  saw  her 
mount  an  old-fashioned  carry-all,  saw  her 
turn  to  wave  a  farewell.  The  carry-all 
disappeared.  He  started  toward  the  Hill 
ambulance,  but  he  was  still  thinking, 
"Now  what  is  the  thing  which  a  girl  like 
that  would  consider  more  self-sacrificing 
than  nursing?" 


25 


II 

MR.   NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

r>OBERT  H.  NORCROSS  looked 
•*•  up  from  a  sheet  of  figures,  and 
turned  his  vision  upon  the  serrated  spire 
of  old  Trinity  Church,  far  below.  Since 
his  eyes  began  to  fail,  he  had  cultivated 
the  salutary  habit  of  resting  them  every 
half -hour  or  so.  The  action  was  merely 
mechanical;  his  mind  still  lingered  on  the 
gross  earnings  of  the  reorganized  L.  D. 
and  M.  railroad.  It  was  a  sultry  after 
noon  in  early  fall.  The  roar  of  lower 
New  York  came  up  to  him  muffled  by  the 
haze.  The  traffic  seemed  to  move  more 
slowly  than  usual,  as  though  that  haze 
clogged  its  wheels  and  congealed  its  oils. 
The  very  tugs  and  barges,  on  the  river 
beyond,  partook  of  the  season's  languor. 
They  crept  over  the  oily  waves  at  a  slug- 
26 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

gard  pace,  their  smoke-streamers  dropping 
wearily  toward  the  water. 

The  eyes  of  Robert  H.  Norcross  swept 
this  vista  for  the  allotted  two  minutes  of 
rest.  Presently — and  with  the  very 
slightest  change  of  expression — they  fixed 
themselves  on  a  point  so  far  below  that 
he  needs  must  lean  forward  and  rest  his 
arms  on  the  window  sill  in  order  to  look. 
He  wasted  thus  a  minute;  and  such  a 
wasting,  in  the  case  of  Robert  H.  Nor 
cross,  was  a  considerable  matter.  The 
Sunday  newspapers — when  in  doubt- 
always  played  the  income  of  Robert  H. 
Norcross  by  periods  of  months,  weeks, 
days,  hours  and  minutes.  Every  minute 
of  his  time,  their  reliable  statisticians  com 
puted,  was  worth  a  trifle  less  than  forty- 
seven  dollars.  Regardless  of  the  waste 
of  time,  he  continued  to  gaze  until  the 
watch  on  his  desk  had  ticked  off  five 
minutes,  or  two  hundred  and  thirty-five 
dollars. 

The  thing  which  had  caught  and  held 
his  attention  was  a  point  in  the  church- 
27 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

yard  of  old   Trinity  near   to  the   south 
door. 

The  Street  had  been  remarking,  for  a 
year,  that  Norcross  was  growing  old. 
The  change  did  not  show  in  his  operations. 
His  grip  on  the  market  was  as  firm  as 
ever,  his  judgment  as  sure,  his  imagina 
tion  as  daring,  his  habit  of  keeping  his 
own  counsel  as  settled.  Within  that  year, 
he  had  consummated  the  series  of  opera 
tions  by  which  the  L.  D.  and  M.,  final 
independent  road  needed  by  his  system, 
had  "come  in";  within  that  year,  he  had 
closed  the  last  finger  of  his  grip  on  a 
whole  principality  of  our  domain.  Every 
laborer  in  that  area  would  thenceforth  do 
a  part  of  his  day's  delving,  every  merchant 
a  part  of  his  day's  bargaining,  for  Robert 
H.  Norcross.  Thenceforth — until  some 
other  robber  baron  should  wrest  it  from 
his  hands — Norcross  would  make  laws 
and  unmake  legislatures,  dictate  judg 
ments  and  overrule  appointments — give 
the  high  justice  while  courts  and  assem 
blies  trifled  with  the  middle  and  the  low. 
28 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

Certainly  the  history  of  that  year  in 
American  finance  indicated  no  flagging 
in  the  powers  of  Robert  H.  Norcross. 

The  change  which  the  Street  had 
marked  lay  in  his  face — it  had  taken  on 
the  subtle  imprint  of  a  first  frosty  day. 
He  had  never  looked  the  power  that  he 
was.  Short  and  slight  of  build,  his  head 
was  rather  small  even  for  his  size,  and 
his  features  were  insignificant — all  ex 
cept  the  mouth,  whose  wide  firmness  he 
covered  by  a  drooping  mustache,  and  the 
eyes,  which  betrayed  always  an  inner  fire. 
The  trained  observer  of  faces  noticed  this, 
however ;  every  curve  of  his  facial  muscles, 
every  plane  of  the  inner  bone-structure, 
was  set  by  nature  definitely  and  properly 
in  its  place  to  make  a  powerful  and  per 
fectly  coordinated  whole.  In  this  facial 
manifestation  of  mental  powers,  he  was 
like  one  of  those  little  athletes  who,  carry 
ing  nothing  superfluous,  show  the  power, 
force  and  endurance  which  is  in  them  by 
no  masses  of  overlying  muscles,  but  only 
by  a  masterful  symmetry. 
29 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Now,  in  a  year,  the  change  had  come 
over  his  face — the  jump  as  abrupt  as  that 
by  which  a  young  girl  grows  up — the 
transition  from  middle  age  to  old  age.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  his  full,  iron-gray 
hair  and  mustache  had  bleached  and  sil 
vered.  It  was  more  that  the  cheeks  were 
falling  from  middle-aged  masses  to  old- 
age  creases,  more  that  the  skin  was  draw 
ing  up,  most  that  the  inner  energy  which 
had  vitalized  his  walk  and  gestures  was 
his  no  longer. 

In  the  mind,  too — though  no  one  per 
ceived  that,  he  least  of  all — had  come  a 
change.  Here  and  there,  a  cell  had  dis 
integrated  and  collapsed.  They  were  not 
the  cells  which  vitalized  his  business  sense. 
They  lay  deeper  down;  it  was  as  though 
their  very  disuse  for  thirty  years  had 
weakened  them.  In  such  a  cell  his  con 
sciousness  dwelt  while  he  gazed  on  Trinity 
Churchyard,  and  especially  upon  that 
modest  shaft  of  granite,  three  graves  from 
the  south  entrance.  And  the  watch  on  his 
desk  clicked  off  the  valuable  seconds,  and 
30 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

the  electric  clock  on  the  wall  jumped  to 
mark  the  passing  minutes.  "Click-click" 
from  the  desk — seventy-eight  cents— 
"Click-click" — one  dollar  and  fifty-seven 
cents — "Clack"  from  the  wall — forty 
seven  dollars. 

Presently,  when  watch  and  clock  had 
chronicled  four  hundred  and  seventy 
dollars  of  wasted  time,  he  leaned  back, 
looked  for  a  moment  on  the  brazen  Sep 
tember  heavens  above,  and  sighed.  He 
might  then  have  turned  back  to  his  desk 
and  the  table  of  gross  earnings,  but  for 
his  secretary. 

"Mr.  Bulger  outside,  sir,"  said  the 
secretary. 

"All  right!"  responded  Mr.  Norcross. 
In  him,  those  two  words  spoke  enthusiasm ; 
usually,  a  gesture  or  a  nod  was  enough  to 
bar  or  admit  a  visitor  to  the  royal  pres 
ence.  Hard  behind  the  secretary,  entered 
with  a  bound  and  a  breeze,  Mr.  Arthur 
Bulger.  He  was  a  tall  man  about  forty- 
five  if  you  studied  him  carefully,  no  more 
than  thirty-five  if  you  studied  him 
31 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

casually.  Not  only  his  strong  shoulders, 
his  firm  set  on  his  feet,  his  well-condi 
tioned  skin,  showed  the  ex-athlete  who  has 
kept  up  his  athletics  into  middle  age,  but 
also  that  very  breeze  and  bound  of  a 
man  whose  blood  runs  quick  and  orderly 
through  its  channels.  His  face,  a  little 
pudgy,  took  illumination  from  a  pair  of 
lively  eyes.  He  was  the  jester  in  the 
court  of  King  Norcross;  one  of  the 
half-dozen  men  whom  the  bachelor  lord 
of  railroads  admitted  to  intimacy.  A 
measured  intimacy  it  was;  and  it  never 
trenched  on  business.  Bulger,  like  all 
the  rest,  owed  half  of  his  position  to  the 
fact  that  he  never  asked  by  so  much  as  a 
hint  for  tips,  never  seemed  curious  about 
the  operations  of  Norcross.  There  was 
the  time  on  Wall  Street  when  Norcross, 
by  a  lift  of  his  finger,  a  deflection  of  his 
eye,  might  have  put  his  cousin  and  only 
known  relative  on  the  right  side  of  the 
market.  He  withheld  the  sign,  and  his 
cousin  lost.  The  survivors  in  Norcross's 
circle  of  friends  understood  this  per- 
32 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

fectly;  it  was  why  they  survived.  If 
they  got  any  financial  advantage  from 
the  friendship,  it  was  through  the  adver 
tising  it  gave.  For  example,  Bulger,  a 
broker  of  only  moderate  importance, 
owed  something  to  the  general  under 
standing  that  he  was  "thick  with  the  Old 
Man." 

Norcross  looked  up ;  his  mustache  lifted 
a  little,  and  his  eyes  lit. 

"Drink?"  he  said.  His  allowance  was 
two  drinks  a  day;  one  just  before  he  left 
the  office,  the  other  before  dinner. 

"Much  obliged,"  responded  Bulger, 
"but  you  know  where  I  was  last  night. 
If  I  took  a  drink  now,  I  would  emit  a 
pale,  blue  flame." 

Norcross  laughed  a  purring  laugh,  and 
touched  a  bell.  The  secretary  stood  in  the 
door ;  Norcross  indicated,  by  an  out-turned 
hand,  the  top  of  his  desk.  The  secretary 
had  hardly  disappeared  before  the  office- 
boy  entered  with  a  tray  and  glasses. 
Simultaneously  a  clerk,  entering  from  an 
other  door  as  though  by  accident,  swept 
3  33 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

up  the  balance  sheets  of  the  L.  D.  and  M. 
and  bore  them  away.  Bulger's  glance 
followed  the  papers  hungrily  for  a  second ; 
then  turned  back  on  Norcross,  carefully 
mixing  a  Scotch  highball. 

As  Norcross  finished  with  the  siphon, 
his  eyes  wandered  downward  again. 

"Ever  been  about  much  down  there?" 
he  asked  suddenly.  Bulger  crossed  the 
room  and  looked  down  over  his  shoulder. 

"Where?"  he  asked,  "The  Street  or—" 

"Trinity  Churchyard." 

"Once  I  sang  my  little  love  lays  there 
in  the  noon  hour,"  answered  Bulger.  "I 
was  a  gallant  clerk  and  hers  the  fairest 
fingers  that  ever  caressed  a  typewriter — 
The  intent  attitude  of  Norcross,  the  fact 
that  he  neither  turned  nor  smiled,  checked 
Bulger.  With  the  instinct  of  the  court 
ier,  he  perceived  that  the  wind  lay  in  an 
other  tack.  He  racked  the  unused  half 
of  his  mind  for  appropriate  sentiments. 

"Bully  old  graveyard,"  he  brought  out; 
"lot's  of  good  people  buried  there." 

"Know  any  of  the  graves?" 
34 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

"Only  Alexander  Hamilton's.  Every 
one  knows  that." 

"That  one — see — that  marble  shaft — 
not  one  of  the  old  ones." 

"If  you  're  curious  to  know,"  answered 
Bulger  easily,  "1 11  find  out  on  my  way 
down  to-morrow.  I  suppose  if  you  were 
to  go  and  look,  and  the  reporters  were  to 
see  you  meditating  among  the  tombs, 
we  'd  have  a  scare  head  to-morrow  and  a 
drop  of  ten  points  in  the  market." 
Bulger's  shift  to  a  slight  levity  was  pre 
meditated;  he  was  taking  guard  against 
overplaying  his  part. 

"No,  never  mind,"  said  Norcross,  "it 
just  recalls  something."  He  paused  the 
fraction  of  a  second,  and  his  eye  grew 
dull.  "Wonder  if  they  're — anywhere — 
those  people  down  under  the  tombstones?" 

"I  suppose  we  all  believe  in  immortal- 

ity." 

"Seeing   and  hearing  is  believing.     I 

believe    what    I    see.     Born    that    way." 

Norcross    was    speaking    with    a    slight, 

agitated  jerk  in  his  voice.     He  rose  now, 

35 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

and  paced  the  floor,  throwing  out  his  feet 
in  quick  thrusts.  "I  'm  getting  along, 
Bulger,  and  I  'd  like  to  know."  More 
pacing.  Coming  to  the  end  of  his  route, 
he  peered  shrewdly  into  the  face  of  the 
younger  man.  "Have  you  read  the 
Psychical  Society's  report  on  Mrs.  Fife?" 

Bulger's  mind  said,  "Good  God  no!" 
His  lips  said,  "Only  some  newspaper  stuff 
about  them.  Seemed  rather  remarkable 
if  true.  Something  in  that  stuff,  I  sup 
pose." 

"I  Ve  read  them,"  resumed  Norcross. 
"Got  the  full  set.  We  ought  to  inform 
ourselves  on  such  things,  Bulger.  Espe 
cially  when  we  get  older.  That  grave 
stone  now.  There  's  one  like  it — that  I 
know  about."  Norcross,  with  another 
jerky  motion,  which  seemed  to  propel  him 
against  his  will,  crossed  to  his  desk  and 
touched  a  bell,  bringing  his  secretary  in 
stantly. 

"Left  hand  side  of  the  vault,  box 
marked  'Private  3,'  "  he  said.  Then  he 
resumed : 

36 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

"If  they  could  come  back  they  would 
come,  Bulger.  Especially  those  we  loved. 
Not  to  let  us  see  them,  you  understand, 
but  to  assure  us  it  is  all  right — that  we  '11 
live  again.  That 's  what  I  want — proof 
— I  can't  take  it  on  faith."  His  voice 
lowered.  "Thirty  years!"  he  whispered. 
"What's  thirty  years?" 

The  secretary  knocked,  entered,  set  a 
small,  steel  box  on  the  glass  top  of  the 
desk.  Norcross  dismissed  him  with  a 
gesture,  drew  out  his  keys,  opened  the  box. 
It  distilled  a  faint  scent  of  old  roses  and 
old  papers.  Norcross  looked  within  for 
a  moment,  as  though  turning  the  scent 
into  memories,  before  he  took  out  a  locket. 
He  opened  it,  hesitated,  and  then  ex 
tended  it  to  Bulger.  It  enclosed  an  ex 
quisite  miniature — a  young  woman, 
blonde,  pretty  in  a  blue-eyed,  innocent 
way,  but  characterless,  too — a  face  upon 
which  life  had  left  nothing,  so  that  even 
the  great  painter  who  made  the  miniature 
from  a  photograph  had  illuminated  it  only 
with  technical  skill. 

37 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Don't  tell  me  what  you  think  of  her," 
Norcross  said  quietly;  "I  prefer  to  keep 
my  own  ideas.  It  was  when  I  was  a 
young  freight  clerk.  She  taught  school 
up  there.  We  were — well,  the  ring's  in 
the  box,  too.  They  took  it  off  her  finger 
when  they  buried  her.  That 's  why—  "  to 
put  the  brake  on  his  rapidly  running  senti 
ment,  he  ventured  one  of  his  rare  pleasant 
ries  at  this  point — "that 's  why  I  'm  still 
a  stock  newspaper  feature  as  one  of  the 
great  matches  for  ambitious  society  girls." 

Bulger,  listening,  was  observing  also. 
Within  the  front  cover  of  the  case  were 
two  sets  of  initials  in  old  English  letters 
-"R.  H.  N."  and  "H.  W."  His  mind, 
a  little  confused  by  its  wanderings  in 
strange  fields,  tried  idly  to  match  "H. 
W."  with  names.  Suddenly  he  felt  the 
necessity  of  expressing  sympathy. 

"Poor — "  he  began,  but  Norcross,  by  a 
swift  outward  gesture  of  the  hand, 
stopped  and  saved  him. 

"Well,  I  got  in  after  that,"  Norcross 
went  on,  "and  I  drove  'em!  It  wasn't 
38 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

the  money ;  it  was  the  game.  She  'd  have 
had  the  spending  of  that.  And  it  is  n't 
just  to  see  her — it 's  to  know  if  she  is  still 
waiting — and  if  we  11  make  up  for  thirty 
years — out  there." 

As  Bulger  handed  back  the  locket, 
the  secretary  knocked  again.  Norcross 
started;  something  seemed  to  snap  into 
place;  he  was  again  the  silent,  guarded 
baron  of  the  railroads.  He  dropped  the 
locket  into  the  box,  closed  it.  "The 
automobile,"  said  his  secretary.  Norcross 
nodded,  and  indicated  the  box.  The  sec 
retary  bore  it  away. 

"Come  up  to  dinner  Tuesday,"  said 
Norcross  in  his  normal  tone.  But  his 
voice  quavered  a  little  for  a  moment  as  he 
added : 

"You  're  good  at  forgetting?" 

"Possessor  of  the  best  forgettery  you 
ever  saw,"  responded  Bulger.  Forth 
with,  they  turned  to  speech  of  the  railroad 
rate  bill. 

When,    after   a   mufti   dinner   at   the 
39 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

club,  Bulger  reached  his  bachelor  apart 
ments,  he  found  a  telegram.  The  en 
velope  bore  his  office  address ;  by  that  sign 
he  knew,  even  before  he  unfolded  the 
yellow  paper,  that  it  was  the  important 
telegram  from  his  partner,  the  crucial 
telegram,  for  which  he  had  been  waiting 
these  two  days,.  It  must  have  come  to  the 
office  after  he  left.  He  got  out  the  code 
book  from  his  desk,  laid  it  open  beside  the 
sheet,  and  began  to  decipher,  his  face 
whitening  as  he  went  on: 

BUTTE,  MONT. 

Reports  of  expert  phony.  Think  Oppendike 
salted  it  on  him.  They  will  finish  this  vein  in  a 
month.  Then  the  show  will  bust.  Federated 
Copper  Company  will  not  bite  and  too  late  now 
to  unload  on  public.  Something  must  be  done. 
Can't  you  use  your  drag  with  Norcross  some 
how?  WATSON. 

Bulger,   twisting  the  piece  of  yellow 

paper,   stared  out  into  the   street.     His 

"drag  with  Norcross!"     What  had  that 

ever  brought,  what  could  it  ever  bring, 

40 


MR.  NORCROSS  WASTES  TIME 

except  advertising  and  vague  standing? 
Yet  Norcross  by  a  word,  a  wink,  could 
give  him  information  which,  rightly  used, 
would  cancel  all  the  losses  of  this  unfortu 
nate  plunge  in  the  Mongolia  Mine.  But 
Norcross  would  never  give  that  word,  that 
wink ;  and  to  fish  for  it  were  folly.  Nor 
cross  never  broke  the  rules  of  the  lone 
game  which  he  played. 

As  Bulger  stood  there,  immovable  ex 
cept  for  the  nervous  hands  which  still 
twisted  and  worried  the  telegram,  he  saw 
a  sign  on  the  building  opposite.  The  first 
line,  bearing  the  name,  doubtless,  was  il 
legible;  the  second,  fully  legible,  lingered 
for  a  long  time  merely  in  his  perceptions 
before  it  reached  and  touched  his  con 
sciousness. 

"CLAIRVOYANT,"  it  read. 

He  started,  leaned  on  a  table  as  though 
from  weakness,  and  continued  to  stare  at 
the  sign. 

"Who  is  the  cleverest  fakir  in  that  busi 
ness?"  he  said  at  length  to  himself. 

And  then,  after  a  few  intent  minutes: 
41 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"When  he  was  a  freight  clerk — thirty 
years  ago — that  was  at  Farnham  Mills— 
'H.  W.' — granite  shaft — sure  it  can  be 
done!" 


42 


Ill 

THE   LIGHT 

A  S  Dr.  Blake  tucked  his  racket  under 
**•  his  arm  and  came  down  to  the  net, 
the  breeze  caught  a  corner  of  her  veil  and 
let  the  sunlight  run  clear  across  her  face. 
He  realized,  in  that  moment,  how  the 
burning  interest  as  a  man,  which  he  had 
developed  in  these  three  weeks  for  An 
nette  Markham,  had  quite  submerged  his 
interest  as  a  physician.  For  health,  this 
was  a  different  creature  from  the  one 
whom  he  had  studied  in  the  parlor  car. 
Her  color  ran  high;  the  greatest  alarmist 
in  the  profession  would  have  wasted  no 
thought  on  her  heart  valves ;  the  look  as  of 
one  "called"  had  passed.  Though  she  still 
appeared  a  little  grave,  it  was  a  healthy, 
attractive  gravity;  and  take  it  all  in  all 
she  had  smiled  much  during  three  weeks 
43 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

of  daily  walks  and  rides  and  tennis.  In 
deed,  now  that  he  remembered  it,  her 
tennis  measured  the  gradual  change.  She 
would  never  be  good  at  tennis ;  she  had  no 
inner  strength  and  no  "game  sense." 
But  at  first  she  had  played  in  a  kind  of 
stupor;  again  and  again  she  would  stand 
at  the  backline  in  a  brown  study  until 
the  passage  of  the  ball  woke  her  with  an 
apologetic  start.  Now,  she  frolicked 
through  the  game  with  all  vigor,  zest  and 
attention,  going  after  every  shot,  smiling 
and  sparkling  over  her  good  plays, 
prettily  put  out  at  her  bad  ones. 

While  he  helped  her  on  with  her  sweater 
— lingering  too  long  over  that  little  serv 
ice  of  courtesy — he  expressed  this. 

"Do  you  know  that  for  physical  con 
dition  you  're  no  more  the  same  girl  whom 
I  first  met  than — than  I  am!" 

She  laughed  a  little  at  the  comparison. 

"And  you  are  no  more  the  same  man 
whom  I  first  met — than  I  am!" 

He  laughed  too  at  this  tribute  to  his 
44 


THE  LIGHT 

summer  coating  of  bronze  over  red.  "I 
feel  pretty  fit,"  he  admitted. 

"My  summer  always  has  that  effect," 
she  went  on.  "Do  you  know  that  for  all 
I  Ve  been  so  much  out  of  the  active 
world" — a  shadow  fell  on  her  eyes, — "I 
long  for  country  and  farms?  How  I 
wish  I  could  live  always  out-of-doors! 
The  day  might  come—  "  the  shadow  lifted 
a  little — "when  I  'd  retire  to  a  farm  for 
good." 

"You  've  one  of  those  constitutions 
which  require  air  and  light  and  sunshine," 
he  answered. 

"You  're  quite  right.  I  actually  bleach 
in  the  shadow — like  lettuce.  That 's  why 
Aunt  Paula  always  sends  me  away  for  a 
month  every  now  and  then  to  the  quietest 
place  proper  for  a  well-brought-up  young 
person." 

His  eyes  shadowed  as  though  they  had 

caught  that  blasting  shade  in  hers.     From 

gossip  about  the  Mountain  House,  later 

from  her  own  admission,  he  knew  who 

45 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Aunt  Paula"  was — "a  spirit  medium,  or 
something,"  said  the  gossip;  "a  great 
teacher  of  a  new  philosophy,"  said  An 
nette  Markham. 

Dr.  Blake,  partly  because  adventure 
had  kept  him  over-young,  held  still  his 
basic,  youthful  ideas  about  the  proper  en 
vironment  for  woman.  Whenever  the 
name  "Aunt  Paula,"  softened  with  the 
accents  of  affection,  proceeded  from  that 
low,  contralto  voice,  it  hurt  the  new  thing, 
greater  than  any  conventional  idea,  which 
was  growing  up  in  him.  He  even  sus 
pected,  at  such  times,  what  might  be  the 
"something  nobler  than  nursing." 

A  big  apple  tree  shaded  the  sidelines  of 
the  Mountain  House  tennis  court.  A 
bench  fringed  its  trunk.  Annette  threw 
herself  down,  back  against  the  bark.  It 
was  late  afternoon.  The  other  house- 
guests  droned  over  bridge  on  the  piazzas 
or  walked  in  the  far  woods;  they  were 
alone  out-of-doors.  And  Annette,  al 
ways,  until  now,  so  chary  of  confidences, 
46 


THE  LIGHT 

developed  the  true  patient's  weakness  and 
began  to  talk  symptoms. 

"It  is  curious  the  state  I  'm  in  before 
Aunt  Paula  sends  me  away,"  she  said; 
"I  was  a  nervous  child,  and  though  I  've 
outgrown  it,  I  still  have  attacks  of  nerve 
fag  or  something  like  it.  I  can  feel  them 
coming  on  and  so  can  she.  You  know 
we  've  been  together  so  much  that  it 's  like 
— like  two  bees  in  adjoining  cells.  The 
cell- wall  has  worn  thin;  we  can  almost 
touch.  She  knows  it  often  before  I  do. 
She  makes  me  go  to  bed  early;  often  she 
puts  me  to  sleep  holding  my  hand,  as  she 
used  to  do  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  But 
even  sleep  does  n't  much  help.  I  come 
out  of  it  with  a  kind  of  fright  and  heavi 
ness.  I  have  little  memories  of  curious 
dreams  and  a  queer  sense,  too,  that  I 
must  n't  remember  what  I  've  dreamed. 
I  grow  tired  and  heavy — I  can  always 
see  it  in  my  face.  Then  Aunt  Paula 
sends  me  away,  and  I  become  all  right 
again — as  I  am  now." 
47 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Blake  did  not  express  the  impatient 
thought  of  his  mind.  He  only  said: 

"A  little  sluggishness  of  the  blood  and 
a  little  congestion  of  the  brain.  I  had 
such  sleep  once  after  I  'd  done  too  much 
work  and  fought  too  much  heat  in  the 
Cavite  Hospital.  Only  with  me  it  took 
the  form  of  nightmare — mostly,  I  was 
in  process  of  being  boloed." 

"Yes,  perhaps  it  was  that" — her  eyes 
deepened  to  their  most  faraway  blue — 
"and  perhaps  it  is  something  else.  I 
think  it  may  be.  Aunt  Paula  thinks  so, 
too,  though  she  never  says  it." 

What  was  the  something?  Did  she 
stand  again  on  the  edge  of  revelation? 
Events  had  gone  past  the  time  when  he 
could  wait  patiently  for  her  confidence, 
could  approach  it  through  tact.  It  was 
the  moment  not  for  snipping  but  for  bold 
charging.  And  his  blood  ran  hot. 

"This  something — won't  you  tell  me 
what  it  is?  Why  are  you  always  so  mys 
terious  with  me?  Why — when  I  want  to 
know  everything  about  you?"  After  he 
48 


THE  LIGHT 

had  said  this,  he  knew  that  there  was  no 
going  backward.  Doubts,  fears,  terrors 
of  conventionalities,  awe  of  his  conserva 
tive,  blood-proud  mother  in  Paris — all 
flew  to  the  winds. 

Perhaps  she  caught  something  of  this 
in  his  face,  for  she  drew  away  a  trifle  and 
said: 

"I  might  have  told  you  long  ago,  but 
I  was  n't  sure  of  your  sympathy." 

"I  want  you  to  be  sure  of  my  sympathy 
in  all  things." 

"Ah,  but  your  mind  is  between!"  That 
phrase  brought  a  shock  to  Dr.  Blake. 
At  the  only  spiritualistic  seance  he  had 
ever  attended,,  a  greasy  affair  in  a  hall 
bedroom,  he  had  heard  that  very  phrase. 
A  picture  of  this  woman,  so  clean  and 
windblown  of  mind  and  soul,  caught  like 
a  trapped  fly  in  the  web  of  the  unclean 
and  corrupt — it  was  that  which  quite 
whirled  him  off  his  feet. 

"Between  our  hearts  then,  between  our 
hearts!"  he  cried.  "Oh,  Annette,  I  love 
you!"  His  voice  came  out  of  him  low 
4  49 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

and  distinct,  but  all  the  power  in  the  world 
vibrated  behind  it.  "I  have  loved  you  al 
ways.  You've  been  with  me  everywhere 
I  went,  because  I  was  looking1  for  you. 
I  Ve  seen  a  part  of  you  in  the  best  of  every 
woman" — he  pulled  himself  up,  for 
neither  by  look  nor  gesture  did  she  re 
spond — "I  Ve  no  right  to  be  saying 
this—" 

"If  you  have  not,"  she  answered,  and  a 
delicate  blush  ran  over  her  skin,  "no  other 
man  has!"  She  said  it  simply,  but  with  a 
curious  kind  of  pride. 

He  would  have  taken  her  hand  on  this, 
but  the  grave,  direct  gaze  of  her  sapphir- 
ine  eyes  restrained  him.  It  was  not  the 
look  of  a  woman  who  gives  herself,  but 
rather  that  of  a  woman  who  grieves  for 
the  ungivable. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "if  anyone  's  to  blame, 
it  is  I.  I  Ve  brought  it  on  myself! 
I  Ve  been  weak — weak!" 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  brought  it  on— God 
brought  it  on — but  what  does  that  matter? 
50 


THE  LIGHT 

It 's  here.     I  can  no  more  fight  it  than 
I  can  fight  the  sea." 

Now  her  head  dropped  forward  and 
her  hands,  with  that  gracefully  uncertain 
motion  which  was  like  flower-stalks 
swayed  by  a  breeze,  had  covered  her  face. 

"I  can't  speak  if  I  look  at  you,"  she 
said,  "and  I  must  before  you  go  further 
—I  must  tell  you  all  about  myself  so  that 
you  will  understand." 

The  confidence,  long  sought,  was  com 
ing,  he  thought;  and  he  thought  also  how 
little  he  cared  for  it  now  that  he  was  pur 
suing  a  greater  thing. 

"You  know  so  little  about  me  that  I 
must  begin  far  back — you  don't  even 
know  about  my  aunt— 

"I  know  something — what  you  Ve  said, 
what  Mrs.  Cole  at  the  Mountain  House 
told  me.  She  's  Mrs.  Paula  Markham— 
his  mind  went  on,  "the  great  fakir  of  the 
spook  doctors,"  but  his  lips  stifled  the 
phrase  and  said  after  a  pause,  "the  great 
medium." 

51 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  don't  like  to  hear  her  called  that," 
said  Annette.  "In  spite  of  what  I  'm  go 
ing  to  tell  you,  I  never  saw  but  once  the 
thing  they  call  a  medium.  That  was 
years  ago — but  the  horrible  sacrilege  of  it 
has  never  left  me.  She  had  a  part  of 
truth,  and  she  was  desecrating  it  by 
guesses  and  catch  words — selling  it  for 
money!  Aunt  Paula  is  broader  than  I. 
'It 's  part  of  the  truth,'  she  said,  'that 
woman  is  desecrating  the  work,  but  she  's 
serving  in  her  way.'  I  suppose  so — but 
since  then  I  Ve  never  liked  to  hear  Aunt 
Paula  called  a  medium." 

She  paused  a  second  on  this. 

"If  I  were  only  sure  of  your  sym 
pathy!"  A  note  of  pleading  fluttered  in 
her  voice. 

"No  thought  of  yours,  however  I  re 
gard  it,  but  is  sure  of  my  sympathy — be 
cause  it 's  yours,"  he  answered. 

As  though  she  had  not  heard,  she  went 
on. 

"I  was  an  orphan.  I  never  knew  my 
father  and  mother.  The  first  things  I 
52 


THE  LIGHT 

remember  are  of  the  country — perhaps 
that  is  why  I  love  the  out-of-doors — the 
sky  through  my  window,  filled  with  huge, 
puffy,  ice-cream  clouds,  a  little  new-born 
pig  that  somebody  put  in  my  bed  one 
morning — daisy -fields  like  snow — and  the 
darling  peep-peep-peep  of  little  bunches 
of  yellow  down  that  I  was  always  try 
ing  to  catch  and  never  succeeding.  I 
couldn't  say  chicken.  I  always  said 
shicken"  She  paused.  With  that  ten 
derness  which  every  woman  entertains  for 
her  own  little  girlhood,  she  smiled. 

"I  Ve  told  you  of  the  five  white  birches. 
I  was  looking  at  them  and  naming  them 
on  my  fingers  the  day  that  Aunt  Paula 
came.  My  childhood  ended  there.  I 
seemed  to  grow  up  all  at  once." 

Blake  muttered  something  inarticulate. 
But  at  her  look  of  inquiry,  he  merely  said. 
"Go  on!" 

"She  is  n't  really  my  aunt  by  blood,— 

Aunt    Paula    isn't.     You    understand— 

my  father  and  her  husband  were  brothers. 

They  all  died — everybody  died  but  just 

53 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Aunt  Paula  and  me.  So  she  took  me 
away  with  her.  And  after  that  it  was 
always  the  dreadful  noise  and  confusion 
of  New  York,  with  only  my  one  doll- 
black  Dinah — a  rag-baby.  I  thought," 
she  interrupted  herself  wistfully,  "I  'd 
send  Dinah  to  you  when  I  got  back  to 
New  York.  Would  you  like  her?" 

"Like     her — like      her!     My — my— 
But  he  swallowed  his  words.     "Go  on!" 
He  commanded  again. 

"Afterwards  came  London  and  then 
India.  Such  education  as  I  had,  I  got 
from  governesses.  I  did  n't  have  very 
much  as  girls  go  in  my — in  my  class.  I 
did  n't  understand  that  then,  any  more 
than  I  understand  why  I  was  n't  allowed 
to  go  to  school  or  to  play  with  other  girls. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  rebelled  fright 
fully  at  that.  I  can  tell  definitely  just 
when  it  began.  We  were  passing  a  con 
vent  in  the  Bronx,  and  it  was  recess  time. 
The  sisters  in  their  starched  caps  were 
sewing  over  by  the  fence,  and  the  girls 
54 


THE  LIGHT 

were  playing — a  ring  game,  'Go  in  and 
out  the  window' — I  can  hear  it  now.  I 
crowded  my  little  face  against  the  pickets 
to  watch,  and  two  little  girls  who  were  n't 
in  the  game  passed  close  to  me.  The  near 
est  one — I  'm  sure  I  'd  know  her  now  if 
I  saw  her  grown  up.  She  was  of  about 
my  own  age,  very  dark,  with  the  silkiest 
black  hair  and  the  longest  black  eyelashes 
that  I  ever  saw.  She  had  a  dimple  at  one 
corner  of  her  mouth.  She  wore  on  her 
arm  a  little  bracelet  with  a  gold  heart 
dangling  from  it.  I  was  n't  allowed  any 
jewelry;  and  it  came  into  my  mind  that 
I  'd  like  a  gold  bracelet  like  that,  before 
it  came  that  I  'd  like  such  a  friend  for  my 
very  ownest  and  dearest.  The  other  girl, 
a  red-haired  minx  who  walked  with  her 
arm  about  my  girl's  waist — how  jealous 
I  was  of  her!  I  watched  until  Aunt 
Paula  dragged  me  away.  As  I  went,  I 
shouted  over  my  shoulder,  'Hello,  little 
girl!'  The  little  dark  girl  saw  me,  and 
shouted  back,  'Hello!'  Dear  little  thing. 
55 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

I  hope  she  's  grown  up  safe  and  very 
happy !  She  '11  never  know  what  she 
meant  to  me!" 

Her  lips  quivered  again.  Looking  up 
into  her  face,  Blake  wondered  for  an  in 
stant  at  the  sudden  softness  of  her  eyes. 
Then  he  realized  that  they  were  slowly 
filling  with  tears.  He  reached  again  to 
sieze  her  hands. 

"Oh,  no,  no — wait!"  she  said,  weakly. 
After  a  pause,  she  resumed: 

"That  got  up  rebellion  in  me.  All 
children  have  such  periods,  I  Ve  heard. 
I  'm  docile  enough  now.  But  before  I 
was  through  with  this  one,  Aunt  Paula 
had  to  make  my  destiny  clear  to  me— 
long  before  she  meant  to  do  so.  And  I 
grew  to  be  resigned,  and  then  glad,  be 
cause  it  was  a  greater  thing." 

Here  a  rapid,  inexplicable  change 
crossed  her  face.  From  its  firmness  of 
health  and  strength,  it  fell  toward  the  look 
of  one  "called"- 

"I  must  go  back  again.     Between  Aunt 
Paula  and  me  there  was  always  a  great 
56 


sympathy.  It 's  hard  to  describe.  Often 
we  do  not  have  to  speak  even  of  the  most 
important  things.  When  I  come  to  know 
more  about  other  people,  I  wondered  at 
first  why  they  needed  to  do  so  much  talk 
ing  Things  have  happened — things  that 
I  would  not  expect  you  to  believe— 

She  had  kindled  now,  and  she.  looked 
into  his  eyes  like  some  sybil,  divinely  un 
conscious,  preaching  the  unbelievable. 

"I  knew  dimly,  as  a  child  knows,  and 
accepts,  that  Aunt  Paula  had  some 
wonderful  mission  and  that  it  had  to  do 
with  the  other  world — all  you  're  taught 
when  they  teach  you  to  say  your  prayers. 
Little  by  little  she  made  me  understand. 
I  grew  up  before  I  understood  fully. 
The  Guides — Aunt  Paula's — I  have  none 
as  yet — had  told  her  that  I  was  a  Light." 

He  caught  at  this  word,  for  his  lover's 
impatience  was  burning  and  beating 
within  him. 

"Light!"  he  said;  "my  Light!" 

She  regarded  him  gravely,  and  then,  as 
though  his  fervor  had  frightened  her, 
57 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

she  looked  beyond  at  the  apple  leaves. 

"Don't — you'll  know  soon  why  you 
mustn't.  Oh,  help  me,  for  I  am  un 
happy!"  She  controlled  a  little  upward 
ripple  of  her  throat.  "She,  the  Guides 
say,  is  a  great  Light,  but  I  am  to  be  a 
greater.  They  sent  her  to  find  me,  and 
they  directed  her  to  keep  me  as  she  has 
—away  from  the  world.  When  she  first 
told  me  that,  I  was  terrified.  She  had  to 
sit  beside  me  and  hold  my  hand  until  I 
went  to  sleep.  It 's  wonderful  how 
quickly  I  do  sleep  when  Aunt  Paula  's 
with  me — she  's  the  most  soothing  person 
in  the  world.  If  it  weren't  for  her,  I 
don't  know  what  I  'd  do  when  I  get  into 
my  tired  times." 

"You  're  never  going  to  have  any  more 
tired  times,  Light,"  he  said. 

She  went  on  inflexibly,  but  he  knew 
that  she  had  heard: 

"There  was  one  thing  which  I  did  not 

understand,     and    neither    perhaps     did 

Aunt    Paula.     The     Guides     sometimes 

seem  foolish,  but  in  the  end  they  're  al- 

58 


THE  LIGHT 

ways  wise;  I  suppose  they  waited  until 
the  time  should  come.  Though  I  tried 
to  help  it  along,  though  I  cried  with  im 
patience,  I  couldn't  begin  to  get  voices. 
I  've  sat  in  dark  rooms  for  hours,  as  Aunt 
Paula  wished  me  to  do.  I  Ve  felt  many 
true  things,  but  I  could  never  say  honestly 
that  I  heard  anything.  But  the  Guides 
told  Aunt  Paula  'wait.'  And  at  last  she 
learned  what  was  the  matter. 

"I  don't  know  quite  how  to  tell  you 
this  next.  It  came  on  the  way  back  from 
India.  She  had  gone  there — but  perhaps 
you  won't  be  interested  to  know  why  she 
went.  Though  I  was  more  than  twenty, 
I  'd  never  had  what  you  might  call  a 
flirtation.  I  'd  been  kept  by  the  Guides 
away  from  men — as  I  'd  once  been  kept 
from  other  children.  There  was  a  young 
Englishman  on  the  steamer.  And  I 
liked  him." 

Blake  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  rose 
automatically.     So  this  confidence  led  to 
another    man — that    was    the    obstacle! 
She  seemed  to  catch  his  thought. 
59 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Oh,  not  that!"  she  cried;  "he  was  only 
an  incident — won't  you  hear  me?" 
Blake  dropped  at  her  feet  again. 

"But  I  liked  him,  though  never  any 
more — he  was  a  friend  and  girls  need  to 
play.  But  he  wanted  to  be  more  than  a 
friend.  Aunt  Paula  passed  us  on  the 
deck  one  evening.  After  I  had  gone  to 
bed,  she  came  into  my  stateroom.  When 
the  power  is  in  her,  I  know  it — and  I 
never  saw  it  so  strong  as  that  night.  It 
shone  out  of  her.  But  that  was  n't  the 
strange  thing.  Only  twice  before,  had  I 
heard  the  voices  speak  from  her  mouth- 
mostly,  she  used  to  tell  me  what  they  said 
to  her.  But  it  was  not  Aunt  Paula  talk 
ing  then — it  was  Martha,  her  first  and 
best  control.  Shall  I  tell  you  all  she 
said?" 

Out  of  the  confused  impulses  running 
through  Dr.  Blake,  his  sense  of  humor 
spurted  a  moment  to  the  fore.  He  found 
himself  struggling  to  keep  back  a  smile 
at  the  picture  of  some  fat  old  woman  in 
a  dressing  gown  simulating  hysteria  that 
60 


THE  LIGHT 

she  might  ruin  a  love  affair.  He  was 
hard  put  to  make  his  voice  sound  sincere, 
as  he  answered: 

"Yes,  all." 

"She  said:  'Child,  you  are  more  in 
fluenced  by  this  man  than  you  know.  It 
is  not  the  great  love,  but  it  is  dangerous. 
You  are  to  be  the  great  Light  only  after 
you  have  put  aside  a  great  earthly  love. 
This  vessel  from  which  I  am  speaking'- 
she  meant  Aunt  Paula  of  course— 
'yielded  to  an  earthly  love.  That  is  why 
she  is  less  than  you  will  be.  Would  you 
imperil  truth?'  It  was  something  like 
that,  only  more.  Ah,  do  you  see  now?" 

"I  see,"  said  his  sense  of  humor,  "that 
your  Aunt  Paula  is  a  most  unlimited 
fakir." 

"I  see,"  said  his  voice,  "but  do  you 
believe  it?" 

"I  've  so  much  cause  to  believe  that  I 
can  never  tell  you  all.  After  Aunt 
Paula  came  out  of  it,  I  told  her  what 
Martha  had  said.  She  was  dear  and 
sympathetic.  She  put  me  to  sleep;  and 
61 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

when  I  woke,  I  was  resigned.  I  did  not 
see  him  alone  again.  Now  I  understand 
more  clearly.  When  I  have  had  that 
earthly  love  and  put  it  aside,  when  I  have 
proved  myself  to  my  Guides — then  the 
voices  will  come  to  me.  Martha  has  re 
peated  it  to  Aunt  Paula  whenever  I  have 
gone  away  from  home.  She  repeated  it 
before  I  came  up  here — 

"They  had  cause  to  repeat  it,"  he  took 
her  up  fiercely;  "cause  to  repeat  it!" 

"I — I'm  afraid  so.  But  how  should  I 
know?  I  looked  at  you — and  it  seemed 
right,  everlastingly  right,  that  I  should 
know  you.  And  then  I  did — so  suddenly 
and  easily  that  it  made  me  shudder  after 
wards  for  fear  the  test  had  come — the 
agony  which  I  have  been  afraid  to  face. 
Ah,  it 's  bold  saying  this !"  She  drooped 
forward,  and  her  porcelain  skin  turned  to 
rose. 

Blake  sat  breathless,  dumb.  Never 
had  she  seemed  so  far  away  from  him 
as  then;  never  had  she  seemed  so  desir 
able.  He  struggled  with  his  voice,  but 
62 


THE  LIGHT 

no  word  came;  and  it  was  she  who  spoke 
first. 

"Now  I  know — it  is  the  agony!" 

At  this  admission,  all  the  love  and  all 
the  irritation  in  him  came  up  together 
into  a  force  which  drove  him  on.  They 
were  alone;  none  other  looked;  but  had 
all  the  world  been  looking,  he  might  have 
done  what  he  did.  He  rose  to  his  feet, 
he  dropped  both  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  he  devoured  her  sapphirine 
eyes  with  his  eyes,  and  his  voice  was  steel 
as  he  spoke: 

"You  love  me.  You  have  always  loved 
me.  In  spite  of  everything,  you  will 
marry  me!  You  will  say  it  before  you 
are  done  with  me!" 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  her  eyelids 
were  drooping.  Had  he  not  been  a  physi 
cian,  he  would  have  said  that  she  was 
going  to  faint.  But  her  color  did  not 
change.  And  suddenly  she  was  speaking 
in  a  low  tone  which  mocked  his,  but  with 
no  expression  nor  intonations: 

"I  love  you.  I  have  always  loved  you. 
63 


In   spite  of   everything,   I   shall   marry 

you." 

He  dropped  his  hands  from  her  shoul 
ders  with  a  bewildered  impulse  to  seize 
her  in  his  arms;  then  the  publicity  of  the 
place  came  to  him,  and  he  drew  his  hands 
back.  On  that  motion,  her  eyes  opened 
and  she  flashed  a  little  away  from  him. 

"What  did  I  say?"  she  exclaimed;  "and 
why — oh,  don't  touch  me — don't  come 
near — can't  you  see  it  makes  it  harder  for 
me  to  renounce?" 

"But  you  said—" 

"I  said  before  you  touched  me — ah, 
don't  touch  me  again — that  I  should  make 
it  hard — the  harder  I  make  it,  the  more 
I  shall  grow — but  I  can't  bear  so  much!" 
She  had  risen,  was  moving  away. 

"Let 's  walk,"  he  said  shortly;  and  then, 
"Even  if  you  put  me  aside,  won't  you 
keep  me  in  your  life?" 

"The  Guides  will  tell  me,"  she  an 
swered  simply. 

"But  I  may  see  you — call  on  you  in  the 
city?" 

64 


THE  LIGHT 

"Unless  the  Guides  forbid." 

They  were  walking  side  by  side  now; 
they  had  turned  from  the  sunken  arena, 
which  surrounded  the  tennis  court,  toward 
the  house.  Blake  saw  that  the  driver  of 
the  Mountain  House  stage  was  approach 
ing.  He  waved  a  yellow  envelope  as  he 
came  on: 

"Been  looking  for  you,  Miss  Markham. 
Telegram.  Charges  paid." 

Dr.  Blake  stepped  away  as  Annette, 
in  the  preliminary  flutter  of  fear  with 
which  a  woman  always  receives  a  tele 
gram,  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  the 
enclosure.  Without  a  word,  she  handed 
it  over  to  him.  It  read: 

ANNETTE  MARKHAM: 

Take  next  train  home.  Advice  of  Martha. 
Wire  arrival. 

PAULA  MARKHAM. 

"Perhaps  the  Guides  know,"  she  said, 
smiling  but  quivering,  too.  "Perhaps 
they  're  going  to  make  it  easier  for  me." 


65 


IV 

HIS  FIRST   CALL 

DEAR  MR.  BLAKE  (read  the  letter)  :  It  was 
nice  to  get  your  note  and  to  know  that 
you  are  back  in  town  so  soon.  Of  course  you 
must  come  to  see  me.  I  want  Aunt  Paula  to 
know  that  all  the  complimentary  things  I  have 
said  about  you  are  true.  We  are  never  at  home 
in  the  conventional  sense — but  I  hope  Wednes 
day  evening  will  do. 

Cordially, 

ANNETTE  MARKHAM. 

He  had  greeted  this  little  note  with  all 
the  private  follies  of  lovers.  Now  for 
the  hundredth  time,  he  studied  it  for 
significances,  signs,  pretty  intimacies ;  and 
he  found  positively  nothing  about  it  which 
he  did  not  like.  True,  he  failed  to  ex 
tract  any  important  information  from  the 
name  of  the  stationer,  which  he  found 
66 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

under  the  flap  of  the  envelope;  but  on 
the  other  hand  the  paper  itself  distinctly 
pleased  him.  It  was  note-size  and  of  a 
thick,  unfeminine  quality.  He  approved 
of  the  writing — small,  fine,  legible,  with 
out  trace  of  seminary  affectation.  And 
his  spirits  actually  rose  when  he  observed 
that  it  bore  no  coat-of-arms — not  even  a 
monogram. 

At  last,  with  more  flourishes  of  folly, 
he  put  the  note  away  in  his  desk  and 
inspected  himself  in  the  glass.  To  the 
credit  of  his  modesty,  he  was  thinking 
not  of  his  white  tie — fifth  that  he  had 
ruined  in  the  process  of  dressing — nor  yet 
of  the  set  of  his  coat.  He  was  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Paula  Markham  and  the  impres 
sion  which  these  gauds  and  graces  might 
make  upon  her. 

"What  do  you  suppose  she's  like?"  he 
asked  inaudibly  of  the  correct  vision  .in 
the  glass. 

He  had  exhausted  all  the  possibilities 
— a  fat,  pretentious  medium  whom  Ann 
ette's  mind  transformed  by  the  alchemy 
67 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

of  old  affection  into  a  presentable  per 
sonage  ;  a  masculine  and  severe  old  woman 
with  the  "spook"  look  in  her  eyes;  a  flut 
tering,  affected  precieuse,  concealing  her 
quackery  by  chatter.  Gradually  as  he 
thought  on  her,  the  second  of  these 
hypotheses  came  to  govern — he  saw  her 
as  the  severe  and  masculine  type.  This 
being  so,  what  tack  should  she  take? 

The  correct  vision  in  the  glass  vouch 
safed  no  answer  to  this.  His  mood  per 
sisted  as  his  taxicab  whirled  him  into  the 
region  which  borders  the  western  edge 
of  Central  Park.  The  thing  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  great  adventure.  No 
old  preparation  for  battle,  no  old  pack 
ings  to  break  into  the  unknown  dark, 
had  ever  given  him  quite  such  a  sense  of 
the  high,  free  airs  where  romance  blows. 
He  was  going  on  a  mere  conventional  call ; 
but  he  was  going  also  to  high  and  thrilling 
possibilities. 

The  house  was  like  a  thousand  other 
houses  of  the  prosperous  middle  class, 
distinguishable  only  by  minor  differences 
68 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

of  doors  and  steps  and  area  rails,  from 
twenty  others  on  the  same  block.  He 
found  himself  making  mystery  even  of 
this.  Separate  houses  in  New  York 
require  incomes. 

"Evidently  it  pays  to  deal  in  spooks," 
he  said  to  himself. 

His  first  glimpse  of  the  interior,  his 
subsequent  study  of  the  drawing-room 
while  the  maid  carried  in  his  name,  made 
more  vivid  this  impresson.  The  taste  of 
the  whole  thing  was  evident;  but  the 
apartment  had  besides  a  special  flavor. 
He  searched  for  the  elements  which  gave 
that  impression.  It  was  not  the  old  wal 
nut  furniture,  ample,  huge,  upholstered 
in  a  wine-colored  velours  which  had  faded 
just  enough  to  take  off  the  curse;  it  was 
not  the  three  or  four  passable  old  paint 
ings.  The  real  cause  came  first  to  him 
upon  the  contemplation  of  a  wonderful 
Buddhist  priest-robe  which  adorned  the 
wall  just  where  the  drawing-room  met 
the  curtains  of  the  little  rear  alcove- 
library.  The  difference  lay  in  tEe  orna- 
69 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

ments — Oriental,  mostly  East  Indian  and, 
all  his  experience  told  him,  got  by  intimate 
association  with  the  Orientals.  That 
robe,  that  hanging  lantern,  those  chased 
swords,  that  gem  of  a  carved  Buddha — 
they  came  not  from  the  seaports  nor 
from  the  shops  for  tourists.  Whoever 
collected  them  knew  the  East  and  its  peo 
ples  by  intimate  living.  They  appeared 
like  presents,  not  purchases — unless  they 
were  loot. 

And  now — his  thumping  heart  flashed 
the  signal — the  delicate  feminine  flutter 
that  meant  Annette,  was  sounding  in  the 
hall.  And  now  at  the  entrance  stood 
Annette  in  a  white  dress,  her  neck  show 
ing  a  faint  rim  of  tan  above  her  girlish 
decolletage ;  Annette  smiling  rather  form 
ally  as  though  this  conventional  passage 
after  their  unconventional  meeting  and 
acquaintance  sat  in  embarrassment  on 
her  spirits ;  Annette  saying  in  that  vibrant 
boyish  contralto  which  came  always  as  a 
surprise  out  of  her  exquisite  whiteness: 
70 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

"How  do  you  do,  Dr.  Blake — you  are 
back  in  the  city  rather  earlier  than  you 
expected,  are  n't  you?" 

He  was  conscious  of  shock,  emotional 
and  professional — emotional  that  they  had 
not  taken  up  their  relation  exactly  where 
they  left  it  off — professional  because  of 
her  appearance.  Not  only  was  she  pale 
and  just  a  little  drawn  of  facial  line,  but 
that  indefinable  look  of  one  "called"  was 
on  her  again. 

All  this  he  gathered  as  he  made  voluble 
explanation — the  attendance  at  the  sani- 
torium  had  fallen  off  with  the  approach 
of  autumn — they  really  needed  no  assis 
tant  to  the  resident  physician — he  thought 
it  best  to  hurry  his  search  for  an  open 
ing  in  New  York  before  the  winter  should 
set  in.  Then,  put  at  his  ease  by  his  own 
volubility,  and  remembering  that  it  is  a 
lover's  policy  to  hold  the  advantage  gained 
at  the  last  battle,  he  added: 

"And  of  course*  you  may  guess  another 
reason." 

71 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

This  she  parried  with  a  woman-of-the- 
world  air,  quite  different  from  her  old 
childlike  frankness. 

"The  theatrical  season,  I  suppose.  It 
opens  earlier  every  year." 

He  pursued  that  line  no  further.  She 
took  up  the  reins  of  the  conversation  and 
drove  it  along  smooth  but  barren  paths. 
"It 's  nice  that  you  could  come  to-night. 
Looking  for  a  practice  must  make  so 
many  calls  on  your  time.  I  should  n't 
have  been  surprised  not  to  see  you  at  all 
this  winter.  No  one  seems  able  to  spare 
much  time  for  acquaintances  in  New 
York." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said,  ruffling  a  little 
within,  "I  shall  find  plenty  of  time  for 
my  friends  this  winter."  Deliberately 
he  emphasized  the  word.  "I  hope  noth 
ing  has  happened  to  change  our — friend 
ship.  Or  does  Berkeley  Center  seem 
primitive  and  far  away?" 

For  the  first  time  that  quality  which 
he  was  calling  in  his  mind  her  "society 
shell"  seemed  to  melt  away  from  her. 
72 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

She  had  kept  her  eyelids  half  closed;  now 
they  opened  full. 

"I  am  living  on  the  memory  of  it,"  she 
said. 

Here  was  his  opening.  A  thousand 
incoherences  rushed  to  his  lips — and 
stopped  there.  For  another  change  came 
over  her.  Those  lids,  like  curtains  drawn 
by  stealth  over  what  must  not  be  revealed, 
sank  half-way  over  her  eyes.  An  im 
palpable  stiffening  ran  over  her  figure. 
She  became  as  a  flower  done  in  glass. 

Simultaneously,  an  uneasiness  as  defi 
nite  as  a  shadow,  fell  across  his  spirit.  He 
became  conscious  of  a  presence  behind 
him.  Involuntarily  he  turned. 

A  woman  was  standing  in  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  hall. 

An  instant  she  looked  at  Blake  and  an 
instant  he  looked  at  her.  What  she 
gained  from  her  scrutiny  showed  in  no 
change  of  expression.  What  he  gained 
showed  only  in  a  quick  flutter  of  the  eye 
lids.  He  had,  in  fact,  taken  an  impres 
sion  of  mental  power  as  startling  as  a 
73 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

sudden  blow  in  the  face.  She  had  a  mag 
nificent  physique,  preserved  splendidly 
into  the  very  heart  of  middle  age;  yet 
her  foot  had  made  no  sound  in  her 
approach.  Her  black  velvet  draperies 
trailed  heavy  on  the  floor,  yet  they  pro 
duced  not  the  ghost  of  a  rustle.  Jet- 
black  hair  coiled  in  ropes,  yet  wisped  white 
above  the  temples;  light  gray  eyes,  full 
and  soft,  yet  with  a  steady  look  of  power 
— all  this  came  in  the  process  of  rising, 
of  stepping  forward  to  clasp  a  warm  hand 
which  lingered  just  long  enough,  in  hear 
ing  Annette  say  in  tones  suddenly  dead 
of  their  boyish  energy: 

"Aunt  Paula,  let  me  introduce  Dr. 
Blake."  With  one  ample  motion,  Mrs. 
Markham  seated  herself.  She  turned  her 
light  eyes  upon  him.  He  had  a  subcon 
scious  impression  of  standing  before  two 
searchlights. 

"My  niece  has  told  me  much  about  Dr. 
Blake,"  she  said  in  a  voice  which,  like 
Annette's,  showed  every  intonation  of  cul 
ture;  "I  can't  thank  you  enough  for  being 
74 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

kind  to  my  little  girl.  So  good  in  you 
to  bother  about  her  when" — Aunt  Paula 
gave  the  effect  of  faltering,  but  her  smile 
was  peculiarly  gracious — "when  there 
were  no  other  men  nearer  her  own  age." 

Curiously,  there  floated  into  Blake's 
mind  the  remark  which  Annette  made 
that  first  day  on  the  train — "I  should 
think  you  were  about  twenty-eight — and 
that,  according  to  'Peter  Ibbertson,'  is 
about  the  nicest  age."  Well,  Annette  at 
least  regarded  him  as  a  contemporary! 
He  found  himself  laughing  with  perfect 
composure — "Yes,  that's  the  trouble  with 
these  quiet  country  towns.  There  never 
are  any  interesting  young  men." 

"True,"  Mrs.  Markham  agreed,  "al 
though  it  makes  slight  difference  in 
Annette's  case.  She  is  so  little  interested 
in  men.  It  really  worries  me  at  times. 
But  it 's  quite  true,  is  it  not  so,  dear?" 

Mrs.  Markham  had  kept  her  remarkable 

eyes   on   Dr.    Blake.     And  Annette,   as 

though  the  conversation  failed  to  interest 

her,  had  fallen  into  a  position  of  extreme 

75 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

lassitude,  her  elbow  on  the  table,  her  cheek 
resting  on  her  hand. 

At  her  aunt's  question,  she  seemed  to 
rouse  herself  a  little.  "What  is  it  that 's 
quite  true,  Auntie?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Markham  transferred  her  light- 
gray  gaze  to  her  niece's  face.  "I  was 
saying,"  she  repeated,  speaking  distinctly 
as  one  does  for  a  child,  "that  you  are  very 
little  interested  in  men." 

"It  is  perfectly  true,"  Annette  an 
swered. 

Mrs.  Markham  .  laughed  a  purring 
laugh,  strangely  at  variance  with  her  size 
and  type.  "You  '11  find  this  an  Adam- 
less  Eden,  Dr.  Blake.  I  '11  have  to  con 
fess  that  I  too  am  not  especially  interested 
in  men." 

This  thrust  did  not  catch  Dr.  Blake 
unawares.  He  laughed  a  laugh  which 
rang  as  true  as  Mrs.  Markham's.  He 
even  ventured  on  a  humorous  monologue 
in  which  he  accused  his  sex  of  every 
possible  failing,  ending  with  a  triumphant 
eulogy  of  the  other  half  of  creation.  But 
76 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

Mrs.  Markham,  though  she  listened  with 
outward  civility,  appeared  to  take  all  his 
jibes  seriously — miscomprehended  him 
purposely,  he  thought. 

Whereupon,  he  turned  to  the  lady's  own 
affairs. 

"Miss  Markham  told  me  something 
about  your  stay  in  India.  I  Ve  never 
been  there  yet.  But  of  course  no  sea 
soned  orientalist  has  any  idea  of  dying 
without  seeing  India.  I  gathered  from 
Miss  Markham  that  you  had  some  unusual 
experiences." 

"It 's  the  dear  child's  enthusiasm,"  Mrs. 
Markham  said.  And  it  came  to  Blake  at 
once  that  she  was  a  little  irritated.  "I 
assure  you  we  did  not  stir  out  of  the  con 
ventional  tourist  route."  Then  came  a 
few  minutes  about  the  beauties  of  the  Taj 
by  moonlight. 

Blake  listened  politely.  "Your  loot  is 
all  so  interesting,"  he  said,  when  she  had 
finished.  "Do  tell  me  how  you  got  it? 
Have  you  ever  noticed  what  bully  trav 
elers'  tales  you  get  out  of  adventures  in 
77 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

bargaining?  Or  better — looting?  Those 
Johnnies  who  came  out  of  Pekin — I  mean 
the  allied  armies — tell  some  stories  that  are 
wonders." 

"That  is  true  generally,"  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  agreed.  "But  I  must  confess  that 
I  did  nothing  more  wonderful  than  to 
walk  up  to  one  of  the  bazaars  and  buy 
everything  that  I  wanted." 

"That,"  Dr.  Blake  said  mentally,  "is  a 
lie." 

Almost  as  if  Annette  had  heard  his 
thought — were  answering  it — she  spoke 
for  the  first  time  with  something  of  the 
old  resiliency  in  her  tone.  "Auntie,  do 
tell  Dr.  Blake  about  some  of  your  adven 
tures  with  those  wonderful  Yogis,  and  that 
fascinating  rajah  who  was  so  kind  to  us." 

"The  Yogis!"  commented  Dr.  Blake  to 
himself;  "Ha,  ha,  and  ho,  ho!  I  bet  you 
learned  a  bag  of  tricks  there,  madam." 

"Why,  Annette,  dear."  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  laughed  her  purring  laugh — that 
laugh  could  grow,  Dr.  Blake  discovered, 
until  it  achieved  a  singularly  unpleasant 
78 


HIS  FIRST  CALL 

quality.  "Your  romantic  ideas  are  run 
ning  away  with  you.  Whenever  we 
arrived  anywhere,  of  course,  like  anybody 
else,  I  called  at  Government  House  and 
the  authorities  there  always  put  me  in  the 
way  of  seeing  whatever  sights  the  neigh 
borhood  afforded.  I  met  one  rajah  in 
passing  and  visited  one  Yogi  monastery. 
Do  tell  me  about  the  Philippines!"  Ann 
ette  settled  back  into  her  appearance  of 
weariness. 

Dr.  Blake  complied. 

He  had  intended  to  stay  an  hour  at  this 
first  formal  call.  He  had  hoped  to  be 
led  on,  by  gentle  feminine  wiles,  to  add 
another  hour.  He  had  even  dreamed  that 
Aunt  Paula  might  be  so  impressed  by 
him  as  to  hold  him  until  midnight.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  left  the  house  just 
thirty -five  minutes  after  he  entered.  Just 
why  he  retreated  so  early  in  the  engage 
ment,  he  had  only  the  vaguest  idea.  Even 
fresh  from  it  as  he  was,  he  could  not 
enumerate  the  small  stings,  the  myriad 
minor  goads,  by  which  it  became  estab- 
79 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

lished  in  his  mind  that  his  call  was  not 
a  success,  that  he  was  boring  the  two 
ladies  whom  he  was  trying  so  hard  to 
entertain.  At  the  end,  it  was  a  labored 
dialogue  between  him  and  Mrs.  Markham. 
Again  and  again,  he  tried  to  drag  Annette 
into  the  conversation.  She  was  tongue- 
tied.  The  best  she  did  was  to  give  him 
the  impression  that,  deep  down  in  her  tired 
psychology,  she  was  trying  to  listen.  As 
for  Aunt  Paula — if  his  gaze  wandered 
from  her  to  Annette  and  then  back,  he 
caught  her  stifling  a  yawn.  Her  final 
shot  was  to  interrupt  his  best  story  a  hair's 
breadth  ahead  of  the  point.  When  he  said 
good-night,  his  manner — he  flattered  him 
self — betrayed  nothing  of  his  sense  of 
defeat.  But  no  fellow  pedestrian,  ob 
serving  the  savage  vigor  of  his  swift  walk 
homeward,  could  have  held  any  doubt  as 
to  his  state  of  mind. 


80 


THE  LIGHT   WAVES 

A  S  Blake  drove  the  runabout  north 
**•  through  the  fine  autumn  morning, 
he  perceived  suddenly  that  his  subcon 
scious  mind  was  playing  him  a  trick.  He 
had  started  out  to  get  light,  air,  easement 
of  his  soul  among  woods  and  fields.  And 
now,  instead  of  turning  into  Central  Park 
at  Columbus  Circle,  he  was  following 
Upper  Broadway,  where,  in  order  to  reach 
the  great  out-of-doors,  he  must  dodge 
trucks  and  cabs  between  miles  of  hotels 
and  apartment  houses.  In  fact,  he  had 
been  maneuvering,  half -unconsciously,  so 
that  he  might  turn  into  the  park  at  the 
Eighty- Sixth  Street  entrance  and  so  pass 
that  most  important  of  all  dwellings  in 
Manhattan,  the  house  where  Annette 
Markham  lived.  Any  irritation  which  he 
6  81 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

had  felt  against  her,  after  the  unpleasant 
evening  before,  was  lost  in  his  greater 
irritation  with  her  aunt.  Annette  ap 
peared  to  him,  now,  as  the  prize,  the  re 
ward,  of  a  battle  in  which  Mrs.  Paula 
Markham  was  his  antagonist. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  into  her  street, 
ten  years  rolled  away  from  him;  he 
dreamed  the  childish,  impossible  dreams 
of  a  very  youth.  She  might  be  coming 
down  the  steps  as  he  passed.  Fate  might 
even  send  a  drunkard  or  an  obstreperous 
cabman  for  him  to  thrash  in  her  service. 
But  when  he  reached  the  house,  nothing 
happened.  The  front  door  remained 
firmly  shut;  no  open  window  gave  a  de 
licious  glimpse  of  Annette.  After  his 
machine  had  gone  ahead  to  such  position 
that  he  could  no  longer  scan  the  house 
without  impolite  craning  of  his  neck,  he 
found  that  his  breath  was  coming  fast. 
Awakened  from  his  dream,  a  little 
ashamed  of  it,  he  opened  the  control  and 
shot  his  machine  ahead  to  the  violation  of 
all  speed  laws.  He  was  crossing  Central 
82 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

Park  West,  and  the  smooth  opening  of  the 
park  driveway  was  before  him,  when  he 
looked  up  and  saw — Annette. 

Her  honey-colored  hair,  glistening  dull 
in  the  autumn  sunshine,  identified  her  even 
before  he  caught  her  characteristic  walk 
—graceful  and  fast  enough,  but  a  little 
languid,  too.  She  was  dressed  in  a  plain 
tailor  suit,  a  turban,  low,  heavy  shoes. 

He  slowed  down  the  automobile  to  a 
crawl,  that  he  might  enter  the  park  after 
her.  A  boyish  embarrassment  smote  him ; 
if  he  drove  up  and  spoke  to  her,  it  would 
look  premeditated.  So  he  hesitated  be 
tween  two  courses,  knowing  well  which  he 
would  pursue  in  the  end.  As  he  entered 
the  park,  still  a  dozen  yards  behind  her,  he 
saw  that  the  footpath  which  she  was  fol 
lowing  branched  out  from  the  automobile 
drive.  Within  a  few  paces,  she  would 
disappear  behind  a  hydrangea  bush.  On 
that  perception,  he  gave  all  speed  to  his 
machine,  shot  alongside  and  stopped. 

Even  before  he  reached  her,  she  had 
turned  and  faced  him.  He  fancied  that 
83 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

the  smile  of  recognition  on  her  face  had 
started  even  before  she  began  to  turn; 
she  did  not  appear  surprised,  only  pleased. 
Beating  around  in  his  mind  for  a  grace 
ful  word  of  introduction,  he  acomplished 
an  abrupt  and  ungraceful  one. 

"Will  you  ride?"  he  asked. 

"With  pleasure,"  she  responded  simply, 
and  in  one  light  motion  she  was  in  the 
seat  beside  him.  He  turned  at  low  speed 
north,  and  as  his  hands  moved  over  wheels 
and  levers,  she  was  asking: 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  here?" 

He  put  a  bold  front  on  it. 

"I  drove  past  your  home,  by  instinct, 
because  I  was  coming  north.  And  I  saw 
you.  Which  of  your  spirits" — he  was 
bold  enough  for  the  moment  to  make  light 
of  her  sacred  places — "sent  you  out-of- 
doors  just  before  I  passed?" 

"The  spirit  of  the  night  before,"  she  an 
swered,  passing  from  smiles  to  gravity. 
"That  long  sleep  without  rest  has  been 
troubling  me  again.  I  remembered  how 
exercise  set  me  up  in  the  country,  and  I 
84 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

started  out  for  a  little  air.  Aunt  Paula 
is  out  this  morning — something  about  the 
plumbing.  Dear  Auntie,  how  I  'd  love  to 
take  those  cares  off  her  shoulders.  She  '11 
never  let  me,  though.  And  next  week  our 
housekeeper,  whom  we  Ve  held  for  two 
years,  is  leaving;  she  must  advertise  and 
receive  applicants — and  likely  get  the 
wrong  one.  So  that 's  another  worry  for 
her.  I  was  alone  in  the  house  when  I 
awoke,  and  I  could  not  waste  such  autumn 
weather  as  this!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  anxiety — the 
physician  again. 

"I  saw  trouble  in  your  face  last  night. 
It  is  n't  normal  that  you  should  be  tired 
out  so  soon  after  the  perfect  condition  you 
achieved  at  Berkeley  Center." 

"No,  it  is  n't.  I  know  that  perfectly, 
and  I  'm  resigned  to  it." 

"I  won't  ask  you  to  let  me  treat  you— 
but  why  don't  you  go  to  some  physician 
about  it?     You  know  how  much  this  case 
means  to  me." 

For  a  time  she  did  not  reply.     She  only 
85 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

kept  her  eyes  on  the  autumn  tints  of  the 
park,  streaking  past  them  like  a  gaudy 
Roman  scarf. 

"No,"  she  said  at  length,  "no  physician 
like  you  can  heal  me.     Greater  physicians, 
higher  ones,  for  me.     And  they  will  not 
—will  not—        She  was  silent  again. 

"Are  you  coming  back  again  to  that 
queer  business  of  which  you  told  me— 
that  day  on  the  tennis  court?" 

"To  just  that." 

"What  can  such  a  thing  have  to  do  with 
your  physical  condition?" 

"You  will  not  laugh?" 

"At  you  and  yours  and  anything  which 
touches  you — no.  You  know  I  could  not 
laugh  now.  Little  as  I  respect  that  ob 
stacle,  it  is  the  most  serious  fact  I  know." 

His  eyes  were  on  the  steering  of  the 
automobile.  He  could  not  see  that  her 
lips  pursed  up  as  though  to  form  certain 
low  and  tender  words,  and  that  her 
sapphirine  eyes  swept  him  before  she 
controlled  herself  to  go  on. 

"Aunt  Paula  says  it  is  part  of  the 
86 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

struggle.  Some  people,  when  the  power 
is  coining  into  them,  are  violent.  Men, 
she  says,  have  smashed  furniture  and  torn 
their  bodies.  I  am  not  strong  to  do  such 
things,  but  only  weak  to  endure.  And 
so  it  takes  me  as  it  does. 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  added,  "that  if 
I  'm  to  give  up  so  many  powers  of  my 
mind,  so  many  needs  of  my  soul,  to  this 
thing,  I  can  afford  to  give  up  a  few 
powers  of  my  body?  Am  I  to  become  a 
Light  without  sacrificing  all?  So  I  keep 
away  from  physicians.  It  is  Aunt 
Paula's  wish,  and  she  has  always  known 
what  is  best  for  me." 

The  automobile  was  running  at  an  even 
fifteen  miles  an  hour  down  a  broad,  un 
obstructed  parkway.  He  could  turn  his 
eyes  from  his  business  and  let  his  hands 
guide.  So  he  looked  full  at  her,  as  he 
said: 

"She  may  have  a  hard  time  keeping  you 
away  from  this  physician!" 

That,    it    seemed,    amused    her.     The 
strain  in  her  face  gave  way  to  a  smile. 
87 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"For  yourself,  she  likes  you,  I  think," 
said  Annette. 

"She  has  a  most  apt  and  happy  way  of 
showing  it,"  he  responded,  his  slights  ris 
ing  up  in  him. 

"You  must  n't  judge  her  by  last  night," 
replied  Annette.  "Aunt  Paula  has  many 
manners.  I  think  she  assumes  that  one 
when  she  is  studying  people.  Then  think 
of  the  double  reason  she  has  for  receiving 
you  coldly — my  whole  future,  as  she  plans 
it,  hangs  on  it — and  she  spoke  nicely  of 
you.  She  likes  your  eyes  and  your  wit 
and  your  manners.  But — 

"But  I  am  an  undesirable  acquaintance 
for  her  niece  just  the  same!" 

"Have  I  not  said  that  you  are — the  ob 
stacle?  Haven't  her  controls  told  her 
that?  If  not,  why  did  she  telegraph  to 
me  when  she  did?"  Then,  as  they  turned 
from  the  park  corner  and  made  towards 
Riverside  Drive,  something  in  her 
changed. 

"Must  we  talk  this  out  whenever  we 
meet?  You  said  once  that  you  would 
88 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

teach  me  to  play.  Ah,  teach  me  now!  I 
need  it!" 

And  though  he  turned  and  twisted  back 
toward  the  subject,  she  was  pure  girl  for 
the  next  hour.  The  river  breezes  blew 
sparkle  into  her  eyes ;  the  morning  intoxi 
cated  her  tongue.  She  chattered  of  the 
trees,  the  water,  the  children  on  the 
benches,  the  gossiping  old  women.  She 
made  him  stop  to  buy  chestnuts  of  an 
Italian  vendor,  she  led  him  toward  his 
tales  of  the  Philippines.  He  plunged 
into  the  Islands  like  a  white  Othello, 
charming  a  super-white  Desdemona.  It 
was  his  story  of  the  burning  of  Manila 
which  brought  him  back  to  the  vexation 
in  his  mind. 

"That  yarn  seemed  to  make  a  very  small 
hit  last  night,"  he  said,  turning  suddenly 
upon  her. 

"I  didn't  like  it  so  much  last  night," 
she  answered  frankly. 

"What  was  the  matter?"  he  asked. 
"Why  were  you  so  far  away?  Were 
you  afraid  of  Mrs.  Markham?  I  felt 
89 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

like  the  young  man  of  a  summer  flirtation 
calling  in  the  winter.  What  was  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 

"No— tell  me." 

"There  was  n't  any  reason.  I  liked  you 
last  night  as  I  always  like  you.  But  we 
were  far  away.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  it 
seemed  to  me?  I  was  like  an  actress  on 
the  stage,  and  you  like  a  man  in  the 
audience.  I  was  speaking  to  you — a  part. 
In  no  way  could  you  answer  me.  In  no 
way  could  I  answer  you  directly.  We 
moved  near  to  each  other,  but  in  different 
worlds.  It  was  something  like  that." 

"I  suppose" — bitterly — "your  Aunt 
Paula  had  nothing  to  do  with  that?" 

"You  must  like  Aunt  Paula  if  you  are 

to  like  me,"  she  warned.     "Yet  that  may 

have    something   to    do    with    it.     I    am 

wonderfully  influenced  by  what  she  thinks 

— as  is  right." 

"Then  it 's  coming  to  a  fight  between 
me  and  your  Aunt  Paula?  For  I  '11  do 
even  that." 

"Must  we  go  all  over  it  again?  Oh  like 
90 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

me,  like  me,  and  give  me  a  rest  from  it! 
I  think  of  nothing  but  this  all  day — why 
do  you  make  it  harder  ?  I  do  not  know  if 
I  can  renounce  and  still  have  you  in  my 
life.  Won't  you  wait  until  I  know?  It 
will  be  time  enough  then!" 

"  'Renounce,'  "  he  quoted.  "Then  you 
know  that  there  is  something  to  renounce 
— and  that  means  you  love  me!"  So 
giddy  had  he  become  with  the  surge  of  his 
passion  that  his  hands  trembled  on  the 
steering-wheel.  Afraid  of  losing  all  mus 
cular  control,  he  brought  the  automobile 
to  a  full  stop  at  the  roadside.  Her 
sapphirine  eyes  were  shining,  her  hands 
lay  inert  in  her  lap,  her  lips  quivered 
softly. 

"Have  I  ever  denied  it — can  I  ever 
deny  it  to  you?" 

The  pure  accident  of  location  gave  him 
opportunity  for  what  he  did  next.  For 
they  were  in  one  of  those  country  lanes 
of  Upper  Manhattan  which,  though  en 
closed  by  the  greatest  city,  seem  still  a 
part  of  remote  country.  Heavy  branches 
91 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

of  autumn  foliage  guarded  the  road  to 
right  and  left;  from  end  to  end  of  the 
passage  was  neither  vehicle  nor  foot- 
passenger.  One  faculty,  standing  un 
moved  in  the  storm  of  emotions  which  had 
overwhelmed  him,  perceived  this. 

He  reached  for  the  trembling  hands 
which  gave  themselves  to  his  touch.  She 
swayed  against  him.  Her  hands  had 
snatched  themselves  away  now — only  to 
clasp  his  neck.  And  now  her  lips  had 
touched  his  again  and  again  and  somehow 
between  kiss  and  kiss,  she  was  murmur 
ing,  "Oh,  I  love  you — I  love  you — I  love 
you.  I  love  you  so  much  that  life  with 
out  you  is  a  perfect  misery.  I  love  you 
so  much  that  my  work  now  seems  stale 
and  dreary.  I  love  you  so  much  that  I 
don't  want  ever  to  go  away  from  you. 
I  want  to  stay  here  forever  and  feel  your 
arms  about  me,  for  that  is  the  only  way 
that  I  shall  ever  know  happiness — or 
peace.  I  wake  in  the  morning  with  your 
name  on  my  lips.  I  wander  through  the 
day  with  you.  If  I  try  to  read,  you 
92 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

come  between  me  and  the  page.  If  I  try 
to  play  you  come  between  me  and  the 
notes.  You  are  my  books.  You  are  my 
music — my — my — everything.  I  go  to 
bed  early  at  night  often  so  that  I  can  lie 
in  the  dusk*  and  think  of  you.  And  oh, 
the  only  nights  that  rest  me  are  those 
filled  with  dreams  of  the  poem  we  would 
make  out  of  life — if — if— 

Her  voice  faltered  and  he  felt  the  ex 
quisite  caress  of  her  lips  trembling  against 
his  cheek.  As  though  she  were  utterly 
spent,  she  ended  where  she  had  begun,  "I 
love  you — I  love — I  love  you." 

He  was  aware  now  that  another  car 
whirred  behind  them.  He  managed — it 
took  all  the  force  in  his  soul — to  put  her 
from  him.  He  turned  to  see  if  they  had 
been  observed ;  the  passengers  in  the  other 
car,  intent  on  their  own  chatter,  did  not 
look;  only  the  chauffeur  regarded  their 
chassis  with  a  professional  eye,  as  though 
wondering  if  they  were  stalled.  When 
Blake  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
back  at  Annette,  her  face  was  buried  in 
93 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

her  hands.  And  now,  when  he  touched 
her,  she  drew  slowly  away. 

"Oh,  drive  on — drive  on!"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Annette— dearest." 

"Don't  speak.  I  beg  you — drive  on  or 
I  shall  die!" 

And  though  the  car  wavered  danger 
ously  under  his  unsteady  touch,  he  obeyed, 
managed  to  gain  the  highroad  without 
a  spill,  and  to  turn  north. 

She  wept  silently.  When  at  last  she 
took  her  hands  away  and  turned  her  face 
on  him,  his  lover's  observation  saw  how 
beautifully  she  wept.  Her  eyes  were  not 
red,  her  face  was  calm.  He  took  heart 
from  her  glance,  began  to  babble  foolish 
love  words.  But  she  stopped  him. 

"You  are  driving  away  from  home," 
she  said.  "Drive  back,  and  don't  speak 

yet." 

After  he  had  turned,  her  tears  ceased. 
She  dried  her  eyes.  Now  she  smiled  a 
little,  and  her  voice  grew  natural. 

"I  must  never  be  weak  again,"  she  said. 
94 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

"But  it  was  sweet.  Dear,  might  I  touch 
your  arm?  No,  you  must  not  stop  again. 
Just  my  hand  on  your  arm." 

"Dearest,  why  do  you  ask?"  She  drew 
off  her  glove,  and  all  the  way  a  light, 
steady  pressure  made  uncertain  his  wheel- 
hand.  They  drove  a  mile  so — two  miles— 
and  neither  spoke  until  they  came  out  into 
inhabited  Upper  Broadway.  At  the  ap 
pearance  of  crowds,  trucks  and  the  perils 
of  the  highway,  that  silver  thread  of  si 
lence  broke.  She  drew  her  hand  away, 
and  took  up  the  last  word  of  ten  minutes 
ago. 

"It  was  sweet — but  no  more.  How 
long  it  is  since  I  kissed  you!  I  am  glad. 
I  shall  pay  for  it  heavily — but  I  am  glad !" 

He  smiled  on  her  as  on  a  child  who 
speaks  foolishness. 

"You  cannot  renounce  now!"  he  said. 

"I  shall  renounce.  I  have  stolen  this 
morning — would  you  rob  me  in  turn?" 

"It  will  be  the  first  kiss  of  a  million,"  he 
said. 

95 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"It  will  be  the  last  forever,"  she  an 
swered.  "But  remember,  if  you  do  not 
kiss  me,  no  man  ever  shall." 

He  busied  himself  with  guiding  the 
automobile ;  it  was  no  time  to  hurl  out  the 
intense  things  which  he  had  to  say.  But 
when  they  had  entered  the  smooth  park 
driveway,  he  came  out  with  it: 

"Do  you  think  that  I  respect  that  ob 
stacle  ?  Can  you  think  that  I  believe  such 
moonshine  even  if  you  do?  And  do  you 
suppose  that  I  am  going  to  let  Aunt 
Paula  keep  you  now?" 

She  touched  his  arm  again ;  let  her  hand 
rest  there  as  before. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  "I  have  never  thought 
that  you  believed.  I  have  felt  this  always 
in  the  bottom  of  your  heart.  I  only  ask 
you  not  to  spoil  this  day  for  me.  I  have 
stolen  it.  Let  me  enjoy  it.  I  shall  not 
put  you  out  of  my  life — at  least  not  yet. 
Later,  when  we  are  both  calm,  we  will  talk 
that  out.  But  let  it  rest  now,  for  I  am 
tired — and  happy." 

So  they  drove  along,  her  light  hand 
96 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

making  warm  his  arm,  and  said  no  word 
until  they  came  near  the  Eighty-Sixth 
Street  entrance.  He  looked  at  her  with  a 
question  in  his  eyes. 

"Leave  me  where  you  found  me,"  she 
answered;  "I  shall  go  in  alone." 

"But  will  you  tell  your  Aunt  Paula  that 
you  met  me?" 

"I  shall  tell  her — yes.  Not  all,  per 
haps,  but  that  I  rode  with  you.  What 
is  the  use  of  concealment?  She  will 
know — " 

"Her  spirits?" 

"Dear,  do  not  mock  me.  They  tell  her 
everything  she  wants  to  know  about  me." 
They  had  drawn  up  at  the  park  entrance 
now;  before  he  could  assist,  she  had 
jumped  down. 

"Good-by — I  must  go  quickly — you 
must  come  soon — I  will  write." 

He  stood  beside  his  car,  watching  her 
back.  Once  she  turned  and  waved  to  him ; 
when  she  went  on,  she  walked  with  a 
spring,  an  exultation,  as  though  from  new 
life.  He  watched  until  she  was  only  a 
7  97 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

blue  atom  among  the  foot-passengers, 
until  a  park  policeman  thumped  him  on 
the  shoulder  and  informed  him  that  this 
was  not  an  automobile  stand. 

When  Dr.  Blake  woke  next  morning, 
it  was  with  a  sense  of  delicious  expectancy. 
He  formulated  this  as  his  eyes  opened. 
She  had  promised  to  write;  the  mail,  due 
for  distribution  in  the  Club  at  a  quarter 
past  eight,  might  bring  a  note  from  her. 
He  timed  his  dressing  carefully,  that  he 
might  arrive  downstairs  neither  before  nor 
after  the  moment  of  fulfilment  or  disap 
pointment.  He  saw,  as  he  crossed  the 
corridor  to  his  mail-box,  that  the  clerk  was 
just  dropping  a  square,  white  envelope. 
He  peered  through  the  glass  before  he  felt 
for  his  keys.  It  was  Annette's  hand. 

So,  glowing,  he  tore  it  open,  and  read: 

DEAR  MR.  BLAKE: 

I  think  it  best  never  to  see  you  again.     Aunt 

Paula  approves  of  this ;  but  it  is  done  entirely 

of    my    own    accord.     My     decision    will    not 

change.     Please  do  not  call  at  my  house,  for  I 

98 


THE  LIGHT  WAVES 

shall  not  see  you.  Please  do  not  write,  for  I 
shall  send  your  letters  back  unopened.  Please 
do  not  try  to  see  me  outside,  for  I  shall  not  rec 
ognize  you.  I  thank  you  for  your  interest  in 
me ;  and  believe  me,  I  remain, 

Your  sincere  friend, 

ANNETTE  MARKHAM. 

After  a  dreadful  day,  he  came  back  to 
the  Club  and  found  a  package,  addressed 
in  her  hand.  Out  fell  a  little  bundle  of 
rags,  toppd  by  a  comical  black  face,  and  a 
note.  The  letter  of  the  morning  was  in 
a  firm,  correct  hand.  This  was  a  trem 
bling  scrawl,  blotted  with  tears.  And  it 
read: 

Dear,  I  have  something  terrible  to  write  you. 
I  must  give  you  up.  I  cannot  go  into  all  the 
reasons  now,  and  after  all  that  would  not  help 
any,  for  it  all  comes  to  this — we  must  never  see 
each  other  again.  Please  do  not  send  me  a  let 
ter,  for  though  I  should  cover  it  with  my  kisses, 
in  the  end  I  would  have  to  send  it  back  un 
opened.  I  send  you  Black  Dinah  as  I  promised. 
It 's  all  that 's  left  of  me  now,  and  I  want  you 
to  have  it.  Dearest,  dearest,  good-by. 


99 


VI 

ENTER  ROSALIE   LE   GRANGE 

,  dearie,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
trance  and  test  clairvoyant,  to  Hattie, 
the  landlady's  daughter.  "Now  keep 
your  wish  in  your  mind,  remember. 
That 's  right ;  a  deep  cut  for  luck.  U-um. 
The  nine  of  hearts  is  your  wish — and  right 
beside  it  is  the  ace  of  hearts.  That  means 
your  home,  dearie — the  spirits  don't  lie, 
even  when  they  're  manifestin'  themselves 
just  through  cards.  They  guide  your 
hand  when  you  shuffle  and  cut.  Your 
wish  is  about  the  affections,  ain't  it, 
dearie?" 

The   pretty   slattern    across   the    table 

nodded.     She  had  put  down  her  dust-pan 

and  leaned  her  broom  across  her  knees 

when  she  sat  down  to  receive  the  only  tip 

100 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

which  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  in  the  existing 
state  of  her  finances,  could  give. 

"I  got  your  wish  now,  dearie,"  an 
nounced  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  "The 
spirits  sometimes  help  the  cards  some- 
thin'  wonderful.  Here  it  comes.  I 
thought  so.  The  three  of  hearts  for  glad 
ness  an'  rejoicin'  right  next  to  the  ace, 
which  is  your  home.  Now  that  might 
mean  a  little  home  of  your  own,  but  the 
influence  I  git  with  it  is  so  weak  I  don't 
think  it  means  anythin'  as  strong  an'  big 
as  that.  Wait  a  minute — now  it  comes 
straight  an'  definite — he  '11  call — rejoicin' 
at  your  home  because  he  '11  call.  Do  you 
understand  that,  dearie?" 

"Sure!"  Hattie's  eyes  were  big  with 
awe. 

"Hat-tie!"  came  a  raucous  voice  from 
outside. 

"Yes-m!"  answered  Hattie. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  all  day 
redding  up  them  rooms?"  pursued  the 
voice. 

"Nearly  through!"  responded  Hattie. 
101 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Rosalie  Le  Grange  made  pantomime  of 
sweeping;  and— 

"I  '11  help  you  red  up,  my  dear,"  she 
whispered.  Forthwith,  they  fell  to 
sweeping,  dusting,  shaking  sheets. 

As  she  moved  about  the  squeezed  little 
furnished  rooms  and  alcove,  which  formed 
her  residence  and  professional  offices  in 
these  reduced  days,  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
appeared  the  one  thing  within  its  walls 
which  was  not  common  and  dingy.  A 
pink  wrapper,  morning  costume  of  her 
craft,  enclosed  a  figure  grown  thick  with 
forty-five,  but  marvelously  well-shaped 
and  controlled.  Her  wrapper  was  as  neat 
as  her  figure;  even  the  lace  at  the  throat 
was  clean.  Her  long,  fair  hands,  on 
which  the  first  approach  of  age  appeared 
as  dimples,  not  as  wrinkles  or  corruga 
tions  of  the  flesh,  ran  to  nails  whose  polish 
proved  daily  care.  Her  hair,  chestnut  in 
the  beginning,  foamed  with  white  threads. 
Below  was  a  face  which  hardly  needed, 
as  yet,  the  morning  dab  of  powder,  so 
craftily  had  middle  age  faded  the  skin 
102 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

without  deadening  it.  Except  for  a  pair 
of  large,  gray,  long-lashed  eyes — too 
crafty  in  their  corner  glances,  too  far 
looking  in  their  direct  vision — that  skin 
bounded  and  enclosed  nothing  which  was 
not  attractive  and  engaging.  Her  chin 
was  piquantly  pointed.  Beside  a  tender, 
humorous,  mobile  mouth  played  two 
dimples,  which  appeared  and  disappeared 
as  she  moved  about  the  room  delivering 
monologue  to  Hattie. 

"I  see  a  dark  gentleman  that  ain't  in 
your  life  yet.  He  's  behind  a  counter 
now,  I  think.  He  ain't  the  one  that  the 
ace  of  hearts  shows  is  goin'  to  call.  I  see 
you  all  whirled  about  between  'em,  but  I 
sense  nothin'  about  how  it 's  goin'  to  turn 
out — land  sakes,  child,  don't  you  ever  dust 
behind  the  pictures?  You'll  have  to  be 
neater  if  you  expect  to  make  a  good  wife 
to  the  dark  gentleman— 

"Will  it  be  him?"  asked  Hattie,  stop 
ping  with  a  sheet  in  her  hands. 

"Now  the  spirits  slipped  that  right  out 
of  me,  didn't  they?"  pursued  Rosalie. 
103 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Land  sakes,  you  can't  keep  'em  back 
when  they  want  to  talk.  Now  you  just 
hold  that  and  think  over  it,  dearie.  No 
more  for  you  to-day."  Rosalie  busied 
herself  with  pinning  the  faded,  dusty  pink 
ribbon  to  a  gilded  rolling  pin,  and  turned 
her  monologue  upon  herself: 

"I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  against  this  house 
for  the  price,  dearie,  but  my,  this  is  a 
comedown.  The  last  time  I  done  straight 
clairvoyant  work,  it  was  in  a  family  hotel 
with  three  rooms  and  a  bath  and  break 
fast  in  bed.  Well,  there  's  ups  an'  downs 
in  this  business.  I  've  been  down  before 
and  up  again— 

Hattie,  her  mouth  relieved  of  a  pillow 
case,  spoke  boldly  the  question  in  her 
mind. 

"What  put  you  down?" 

Rosalie,  her  head  on  one  side,  considered 
the  arrangement  of  the  pink  ribbon,  be 
fore  she  answered: 

"Jealousy,  dearie;  perfessional  jeal 
ousy.  The  Vango  trumpet  seances  were 
doin'  too  well  to  suit  that  lyin',  fakin', 
104 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

Spirit  Truth  outfit  in  Brooklyn — was  n't 
that  the  bell?" 

It  was.  Hattie  patted  the  pillow,  into 
place,  and  sped  for  the  door. 

"If  it 's  for  me,"  whispered  Rosalie, 
"don't  say  I  'm  in — say  you  '11  see." 
Rosalie  bustled  about,  putting  the  last 
touches  on  the  room,  pulling  shut  the  bead 
portieres  which  curtained  alcove  and  bed. 

Hattie  poked  her  head  in  the  door. 

"It 's  a  gentleman,"  she  said. 

"Well,  come  inside  and  shut  the  door- 
no  use  tellin'  him  all  about  himself,"  said 
Rosalie.  "I  'm — I  'm  kind  of  expectin'  a 
gentleman  visitor  I  don't  want  to  see  yet. 
It 's  a  matter  of  the  heart,  dearie,"  she 
added.  "What  sort  of  a  looking  gentle 
man?" 

Hattie  stood  a  moment  trying  to  make 
articulate  her  observations. 

"He  's  got  nice  eyes,"  she  said.  "And 
he  's  dressed  quiet  but  swell.  Sort  of  tall 
and  distinguished." 

"Did  you  look  at  his  feet?"     For  the 
moment,  Rosalie  had  taken  it  for  granted 
105 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

that  all  women  knew,  as  she  so  well  knew, 
the  appearance  of  police  feet. 

"No  'm,  not  specially,"  said  Hattie. 

"Well,  you  'd  'a'  noticed,"  said  Rosalie, 
covering  up  quickly.  "The  gentleman  I 
don't  want  to  see  has  a  club  foot — show 
him  up,  dearie." 

As  Madame  Le  Grange  sat  down  by 
the  wicker  center  table  and  composed  her 
features  to  professional  calm,  she  was 
thinking : 

"If  he  's  a  new  sitter,  I  '11  have  to  stall. 
There  's  nothing  as  hard  to  bite  into  as  a 
young  man  dope." 

The  expected  knock  came.  Entered 
the  new  sitter — him  whom  we  know  as 
Dr.  Walter  Huntington  Blake,  but  a 
stranger  to  Rosalie.  During  the  formal 
preliminaries — in  which  Dr.  Blake  stated 
simply  that  he  wanted  a  sitting  and  ex 
pressed  himself  as  willing  to  pay  two 
dollars  for  full  trance  control — Rosalie 
studied  him  and  mapped  her  plan  of 
action.  There  was,  indeed,  "nothing  to 
bite  into."  His  shapely  clothes  bore 
106 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

neither  fraternity  pin  nor  society  button; 
his  face  was  comparatively  inexpressive; 
to  her  attempts  at  making  him  chatter,  he 
returned  but  polite  nothings.  Only  one 
thing  did  she  "get"  before  she  assumed 
control.  When  she  made  him  hold  hands 
to  "unite  magnetisms,"  his  finger  rested 
for  a  moment  on  the  base  of  her  palm. 
She  put  that  little  detail  aside  for  further 
reference,  and  slid  gently  into  "trance," 
making  the  most,  as  she  assumed  the 
slumber  pose,  of  her  profile,  her  plump, 
well-formed  arms,  her  slender  hands. 
This  sitter  was  "refined" ;  not  for  him  the 
groans  and  contortions  of  approaching 
control  which  so  impressed  factory  girls 
and  shopkeepers. 

Peeping  through  her  long  eyelashes, 
she  noted  that  his  face,  while  turned  upon 
her  in  close  attention,  was  without  visible 
emotion. 

"I  must  fish,"  she  thought  as  she  began 

the  preliminary  gurgles  which  heralded 

the    coming    of    Laughing    Eyes,    her 

famous  Indian  child  control — "I  wonder 

107 


if  I  Ve  got  to  tell  him  that  the  influence 
won't  work  to-day  and  I  can't  get  any 
thing?  Maybe  I  'd  better." 

A  long  silence,  broken  here  and  there 
by  guttural  gurglings;  then  Laughing 
Eyes  babbled  tentatively : 

"John— Will— Will— "  she  choked 
here,  as  though  trying  to  add  a  syllable 
which  she  could  not  clearly  catch.  And 
at  this  point,  Rosalie  took  another  look 
through  her  eyelashes.  She  had  touched 
something !  He  was  leaning  forward ;  his 
mouth  had  opened.  Before  she  could 
follow  up  her  advantage,  he  had  thrown 
himself  wide  open. 

"Wilfred— is  it  Wilfred?"  he  asked. 

Laughing  Eyes  was  far  too  clever  a 
spirit  to  take  immediately  an  opening  so 
obvious. 

"You  wait  a  minny!"  she  said. 
"Laughing  Eyes  don't  see  just  right  now. 
Will — Will — he  come,  he  go.  Oh — oh^ 
I  see  a  ring — maybe  it 's  on  a  finger, 
maybe  it  ain't — Laughing  Eyes  kind  of  a 
fool  this  morning — Laughing  Eyes  has 
108 


got  lots  to  do  for  a  'itty  girl—  Rosalie 
had  essayed  another  glance  as  she  spoke 
of  the  ring.  It  brought  no  visible  change 
of  expression ;  and  from  the  success  of  her 
shot  with  Wilfred  she  knew  that  this,  in 
spite  of  first  impressions,  was  a  sitter 
whose  expression  betrayed  him.  "Then 
it 's  business  troubles,"  she  thought,  "un 
less  he  's  a  psychic  researcher.  And  if  he 
was,  he  wouldn't  be  so  easy  with  his 
face." 

So  Laughing  Eyes  burbled  again,  and 
then  burst  out : 

"I  see  a  atmosphere  of  trouble!"  The 
young  man's  countenance  dropped,  where 
upon  Laughing  Eyes  fell  to  chattering 
foolishly  before  she  went  on:  "Piles  of 
bright  'itty  buttons — money — "  And 
then  something  which  had  been  gently 
titillating  Rosalie's  sense  of  smell  made  a 
sudden  connection  with  her  memory, 
lodoform — the  faintest  suggestion.  She 
linked  this  perception  with  his  appearance 
of  having  been  freshly  tubbed,  his  im 
maculate  finger  nails,  shining  as  though 
109 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

fresh  from  the  manicure,  his  perfectly 
kept  teeth  and — yes — the  pressure  of  a 
finger  on  her  pulse.  Upon  this  percep 
tion,  Laughing  Eyes  spoke  sharply : 

"Wilfred  says  your  sick  folks  don't  al 
ways  pay  like  they  ought.  He  says  when 
they  're  in  danger  they  can't  do  too  much 
for  the  doctor,  but  when  they  're  well,  he  's 
—he — he — Wilfred  is  funny — a  old  saw 
bones  !" 

"Ask  fa — ask  him  about  the  patient," 
faltered  Rosalie's  sitter. 

"Wilfred  says,  'My  son,  it 's  comin' 
out  all  right  if  you  follow  your  own  im 
pulses,'  '  responded  Laughing  Eyes. 
"You  do  the  way  the  influences  guide  you. 
They  're  guiding  you,  not  them  other 
doctors  that  you  're  askin'  advice  from." 
Laughing  Eyes  shifted  to  babbling  of  the 
bright  spirit  plane  beyond,  and  all  that  the 
patient  was  missing  by  delay  in  transla 
tion,  while  Rosalie  took  another  glance  of 
observation,  and  thought  rapidly.  Was 
this  patient  a  medical  or  surgical  case? 
Two  chances  out  of  three,  surgical;  it 
110 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

would  take  remorse  and  apprehension  over 
a  mistake  with  the  scalpel  to  drive  a  medi 
cal  man  medium-hunting.  Her  glance  at 
his  hands  confirmed  her  determination  to 
venture.  They  were  large  and  heavy,  yet 
fine,  the  hands  of  a  craftsman,  a  forger, 
a  surgeon,  anyone  who  does  small  and 
exact  work.  Rosalie  had  been  in  a  hos 
pital  in  her  day,  and  she  had  studied 
doctors,  as  she  studied  the  rest  of  human 
ity,  with  an  eye  always  to  future  uses. 
Having  a  pair  of  hands  like  that,  a  doctor 
must  inevitably  choose  surgery. 

"Trust  your  papa!"  babbled  the  Con 
trol.  "Laughing  Eyes  trusted  her  papa 
—ugh! — he  big  Chief.  He  here  now! 
Your  papa  knows  my  papa !  Your  papa 
says  you  did  n't  cut  too  deep !" 

The  young  man  let  out  an  agitated 
"didn't  I?" 

"You  was  guided,"  pursued  Laughing 
Eyes.  "What  you  might  'a'  thought  was 
a  mistake  was  all  for  the  best.  Those  in 
the  spirit  controlled  your  hands.  Wilfred 
says  'three' — oh — oh  I  know  what  Wilfred 
111 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

means — ugh — get  out  bad  spirit — Wil 
fred  means  three  days — you  wait  three 
days — you  wait  three  days  and  it  will  be 
right." 

"And  now,"  thought  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  "he  's  got  his  money's  worth,  and 
I  '11  take  no  more  risks  for  any  two 
dollars!"  Forthwith,  she  let  the  voice  of 
Laughing  Eyes  chuckle  lower  and  lower. 
"Good-by!"  whispered  the  control  at 
length,  "I  'm  goin'  away  from  my 
medie!"  Then,  with  a  few  refined  con 
vulsions,  Rosalie  awoke,  rubbed  her  eyes, 
and  said  in  her  tinkling  natural  voice: 

"Was  I  out  long?  I  hope  the  sitting 
was  satisfactory." 

No  change  came  over  the  young  man's 
face  as  he  said: 

"From  my  standpoint — very!" 

"Thank  you,"  murmured  Rosalie.  "I 
was  afraid,  when  you  come  in,  that  the  in 
fluences  wasn't  going  to  be  strong.  A 
medium  can  sense  them." 

"Very  satisfactory — with  modifica 
tions,"  responded  the  sitter.  "For  in- 
112 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

stance,  it  is  absolutely  true  that  I  had  a 
father.  His  name  was  n't  Wilfred,  it 
was  James.  And  he  died  before  I  was 
born.  But  don't  let  that  discourage  you. 
I  can  prove  his  existence.  The  other  true 
thing  was  the  corker.  I  've  been  to  fifty- 
seven  varieties  of  mediums  in  the  course 
of  this  experiment,  and  you  're  the  first 
to  jump  at  the  widest  opening  I  gave. 
I  am  a  physician.  I  Ve  put  iodoform  on 
my  handkerchief  every  morning  to  prove 
it.  I  've  been  listed  six  times  as  a  com 
mercial  traveler,  twice  as  a  con  man,  eight 
times  as  a  clerk,  three  times  as  a  police 
man,  with  scattering  votes  for  a  reporter, 
a  clergyman,  an  actor  and  an  undertaker. 
But  you  're  the  first  to  roll  the  little  ball 
into  the  little  hole.  I  am  a  physician,  or 
was.  Better  than  that,  you  got  it  that  I 
specialized  on  surgery — and  I  didn't 
plant  that.  You  draw  the  capital  prize." 
"Young  man,"  asked  Rosalie  with  an 
air  of  shocked  and  injured  innocence,  "are 
you  accusing  me  of  fakery?"  But  de 
spite  her  stern  lips,  in  Rosalie's  cheeks 
8  113 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

played  the  ghost  of  a  pair  of  dimples. 
They  were  reflected,  so  to  speak,  by  twin 
twinkles  in  the  eyes  of  her  sitter.  And 
he  went  straight  on: 

"In  addition,  you  're  the  prettiest  of 
them  all,  and  a  cross-eyed  man  with 
congenital  astigmatism  could  see  that 
you  're  a  good  fellow.  Do !  My  con 
trols  tell  me  that  you  're  about  to  be 
offered  a  good  job." 

"My  controls  tell  me,9'  responded  Ros 
alie  Le  Grange,  "that  if  you  don't  quit 
insultin'  a  lady  in  her  own  house  and 
disgracin'  her  crown  of  mediumship,  out 
you  go.  There 's  those  here  that  will 
defend  me,  I'll  have  you  know!" 

The  young  man's  face  sobered.  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mme.  Le  Grange,"  he 
said,  "I  have  been  sudden.  Would  you 
mind  my  coming  to  the  point  at  once? 
I  'm  here  to  offer  you  a  job." 

Rosalie    looked    him    sternly    over    a 

moment,    but    in    the    end    her    dimples 

triumphed.     She  lifted  her  right  hand  as 

though  to  arrange  her  hair,  two  fingers 

114 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

extended — the  sign  in  the  Brotherhood  of 
Professional  Mediums  to  recognize  a  fel 
low  craftsman.  The  young  man  made 
no  response;  Rosalie's  eyes  flashed  back 
on  guard. 

"How  much  is  this  business  worth  to 
you?"  pursued  the  young  man. 

"Mediums  ain't  measuring  their  re 
wards  by  earthly  gains,"  responded 
Rosalie;  and  now  she  made  no  secret  of 
her  dimples.  "If  we  wanted  to  water 
our  mediumship,  could  n't  we  get  rich  out 
of  the  tips  we  give  people  on  their  busi 
ness?" 

"But  getting  down  to  the  earth  plane," 
the  young  man  continued — and  perhaps 
the  twinkles  in  his  eyes  were  never  more 
obstreperous — "how  much  would  you  ask 
to  take  a  nice,  easy  job  of  using  your 
eyes  for  me?" 

"Well,"  said  Rosalie,  "if  there  was 
nothin'  unprofessional  about  it,  I  should 
say  fifty  dollars  a  week."  She  smiled 
on  him  now  openly.  "You  're  a  doctor. 
I  don't  have  to  say,  as  one  professional 
115 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

person  to  another,  that  there 's  such  a 
thing  as  ethics." 

The  young  man  smiled  back.  "Oh, 
certainly  1"  he  said.  "I  understand  that!" 
Quite  suddenly  he  leaned  forward  and 
clapped  Rosalie's  shoulder  with  a  motion 
that  had  nothing  offensive  about  it- 
only  good  fellowship  and  human  under 
standing — "I  want  you  to  help  me  expose 
Mrs.  Paula  Markham." 

The  announcement  stiffened  Rosalie. 
She  sat  bolt  upright.  "There  ain't 
nothin'  to  expose!"  she  said. 

"Now  let 's  get  on  a  business  basis," 
said  the  young  man. 

"Well,  you  let  me  tell  you  one  thing 
first.  If  you  're  pumpin'  me  for  evi 
dence,  it  don't  go,  because  you  Ve  got  no 
witnesses." 

"I  'm  not  pumping  you  for  anything. 
I  'm  willing  to  admit  that  the  spirits,  not 
you,  smelled  the  iodoform— 

"An'  noticed  that  you  was   scrubbed 
clean  as  a  whistle  and  that  when  we  held 
hands  to  unite  our  magnetism,  you  was 
116 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

pawing-  for  my  pulse,"  pursued  Rosalie, 
dropping  her  defences  all  at  once. 
Thereupon,  Roman  haruspex  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  Roman  haruspex,  and  they 
both  laughed.  But  Rosalie  was  serious 
enough  a  moment  later. 

"Now  when  you  come  to  talk  about 
exposing1  Mrs.  Markham,  you  Ve  got  to 
show  me  first  why  you  want  her  exposed, 
and  you  Ve  got  to  let  me  tell  you  that 
you  're  wastin'  your  money.  There 's 
enough  that 's  fake  about  this  profession, 
but  I  know  two  mediums  I  'd  stake 
my  life  on;  barring  of  course  myself" 
— here  Rosalie  smiled  a  smile  which  might 
have  meant  a  confession  or  a  boast,  so 
balanced  was  it  between  irony  and  sweet 
ness — "Mrs.  Markham  and  Mrs.  Anna 
Fife.  They  're  red" 

She  peered  into  the  face  of  her  inves 
tigator.  His  expression  showed  skeptical 
amusement.  She  knew  that  her  passion 
for  talking  too  much  was  her  greatest 
professional  flaw ;  though  had  she  thought 
it  over  maturely,  she  would  have  realized 
117 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

that  she  had  never  got  into  trouble 
through  her  tongue.  Her  trained  instinct 
for  human  values  led  her  inevitably  to 
those  who  would  appreciate  her  confi 
dences  and  keep  them.  So  the  sudden 
retreat  within  her  defences,  which  fol 
lowed,  proved  irritation  rather  than 
suspicion. 

"See  here,"  she  pursued,  "are  you  a 
psychic  researcher?" 

"Cross  my  heart,"  answered  the  young 
man,  "I  never  associated  with  spooks  in 
my  life  until  this  week.  I  did  it  then 
because  I  wanted  a  first-class  professional 
medium  to  take  a  good  job." 

"Investigating  Mrs.  Markham?  What 
for?  Has  she  got  a  cinch  on  a  relative 
of  yours?" 

"Well,  I'd  like  her  for  a  relative," 
started  the  young  man.  Then  he  hesi 
tated  and  for  the  first  time  faltered.  A 
light  blush  began  at  the  roots  of  his  hair 
and  overspread  his  face. 

"I  got  that  you  were  a  physician,"  said 
Rosalie,  "but  there  's  one  place  I  got  you 
118 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

plumb  wrong.  I  thought  it  was  business 
troubles.  So  the  trouble  's  your  heart  and 
affections !  It 's  that  big-eyed  blonde 
niece  of  Markham's,  of  course.  Well, 
you  ain't  the  first.  The  best  way  to  bring 
the  young  men  like  a  flock  of  blackbirds 
is  to  shut  a  girl  away  from  'em." 

Now  the  young  man  showed  real  sur 
prise. 

"How  did  you  know?"  he  enquired. 

"My  controls  an'  guides,  of  course," 
responded  Rosalie.  "They  could  n't  find 
anybody  else  to  fall  in  love  with  around 
the  Markham  house — ain't  as  smart  as 
you  thought  you  was,  are  you?" 

"Beside  you,"  he  responded,  "I  'm 
Beppo  the  Missing  Link." 

Rosalie  acknowledged  the  compliment, 
and  turned  to  business. 

"I  ain't  asking  you  how  I  'm  going 
about  it,"  she  said;  "probably  you've 
planted  that.  I  am  asking  you  if  you  're 
willing  to  risk  fifty  a  week  on  a  pig  in 
a  poke?  I  know  about  her;  we  all  do. 
She  's  just  like  Mrs.  Fife.  The  Psychic 
119 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Researchers  have  written  up  Mrs.  Fife, 
but  they  ain't  got  half  of  her.  They 
miss  the  big  things,  just  like  they  get 
fooled  on  the  little  things.  We  know. 
And  we  know  about  Mrs.  Markham,  too, 
though  she  's  had  sense  enough  to  keep 
shut  up  from  the  professors. 

"You  're  a  skeptic,"  pursued  Rosalie, 
"and  I  'm  bio  win'  my  breath  to  cool  a 
house  afire  when  I  talk  to  you.  I  guess 
I  just  talk  to  hear  myself  talk.  We 
start  real.  I  did;  we  all  do.  With  some 
of  us  it 's  a  big  streak  an'  with  some  it 's 
a  little.  I  was  pretty  big — pretty  big. 
Things  happen ;  voices  and  faces.  Things 
that  are  true  right  out  of  the  air,  and 
things  that  ain't  true — all  mixed  up  with 
what  you  're  thinking  yourself.  It  comes 
just  when  it  wants  to,  not  when  you  want 
it.  And  the  longer  you  go  on,  and  the 
more  horse  sense  you  get,  the  less  it 
comes." 

Rosalie  stopped  a  moment,  and  veiled 
her  eyes  with  her  lashes,  as  though  speak 
ing  out  of  trance. 

120 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

"Everyone  of  us  says  to  herself,  'It 
won't  leave  me!'  An'  we  start  to  practice. 
What  are  we  goin'  to  do  then?  You 
git  a  sitter.  She  pays  her  two  dollars. 
And  they  don't  come  perhaps.  Not  for 
that  sitter,  or  the  next  sitter,  or  the  next. 
But  you  have  to  give  the  value  for  the 
two  dollars  or  go  out  of  business.  So 
some  day,  you  guess.  That 's  the  funny 
thing  about  this  business,  anyway.  Lots 
of  times  you  ain't  quite  sure  whether 
guessing  did  it,  or  spirits.  I  Ve  glimpsed 
the  ring  on  a  girl's  left  hand,  and  right 
then  my  voices  have  said,  'Engaged!' 
Now  was  it  me  makin'  that  voice,  or  the 
spirit?  I  don't  know.  But  when  you 
begin  to  guess,  you  find  how  easy  people 
are — how  they  swallow  fakes  and  cry  for 
more.  As  sitters  go,  fakin'  gets  'em  a 
lot  harder  than  the  real  stuff.  An'  before 
long — it 's  easy — you  're  slipping  the 
slates  or  bringing  spooks  from  cabinets 
—let  me  tell  you  no  medium  ever  did  that 
genuine.  But  it's  funny  how  long  the 
real  thing  stays.  Now  you — I  called 
121 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

your  father  Wilfred.  Maybe  I  '11  wake 
up  to-morrow  night,  seein'  your  face,  and 
a  voice  will  come  right  out  of  the  air  and 
say  a  name — and  it  '11  be  yours.  It 's 
happened;  it  will  happen  again;  but 
generally  when  I  can't  make  any  use  of 
it. 

"I  'm  goin'  a  long  way  round  to  get 
home.  There 's  some  so  big  that  they 
don't  have  to  fake.  Sometimes,  of  course, 
the  controls  won't  come  to  them,  but  they 
can  afford  to  tell  a  sitter  they  can't  sense 
nothin',  because  the  next  sitter  will  get  the 
real  stuff — the  stuff  you  can't  fake. 
Mrs.  Fife  is  that  way.  I  've  seen  her 
work  and  I  know.  I  know  just  as  well 
about  Mrs.  Markham,  though  I  haven't 
seen  her.  She  keeps  tight  shut  up  awray 
from  the  rest  of  us.  She  never  mixes. 
But  some  of  us  have  seen  her,  they  Ve 
passed  it  on. 

"Mediums,"  added  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
after  a  pause,  "is  a  set  of  pipe  dreamers 
as  a  class,  but  there  's  one  place  where  you 
122 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

can  take  their  word  like  it  was  sworn  to 
on  the  Bible.  It 's  when  they  say  some 
body  has  the  real  thing.  Because  me 
diums  is  knockers,  and  when  they  pass  out 
a  bouquet,  you  can  bet  they  mean  it.  No, 
young  man,  Mrs.  Markham,  if  she  does 
play  a  lone  hand,  is  the  real  thing.  But 
I  may  help  you  waste  your  money." 

The  young  man  had  lost  his  air  of 
cynical  levity,  he  was  regarding  Rosalie 
Le  Grange  somewhat  as  a  collector 
regards  a  new  and  unclassified  species. 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Who 's  the  greatest  doctor  in  the 
world?"  asked  Mme.  Le  Grange. 

"Watkins,  I  suppose,"  responded  the 
young  man. 

"What  'd  you  give  for  a  chance  to  stay 
in  his  office  a  month  and  see  him  work? 
See?" 

He  nodded  his  head. 

"Of  course." 

"I  was  a  darned  little  fool  when  I  was 
young,"  pursued  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
123 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"an'  now  that  I  'm  gettin'  on  in  years  I  'm 
just  as  darned  an  old  one.  I  like  to  take 
chances.  See?" 

"Mme.  Le  Grange,"  said  her  sitter, 
again  clapping  her  rounded  shoulder, 
"you  're  a  fellow  after  my  heart." 

"Just  a  second  before  we  come  to  the 
bouquets,"  responded  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
"there  's  another  reason.  Can  you  guess 
it?" 

"I  Ve  already   given  up   guessing  on 

you." 

On  the  table  beside  Mme.  Le  Grange 
lay  an  embroidery  frame,  the  needle  set 
in  a  puffy  red  peony.  Mme.  Le  Grange 
picked  it  up  and  took  a  stitch  or  two. 
Her  head  bent  over  her  work,  so  that  the 
playful  light  made  gold  of  the  white  in 
her  chestnut  hair,  she  pursued: 

"Maybe  you  specialize  on  mendin' 
people's  bones  and  maybe  your  specialty 
is  their  insides.  I  've  got  a  specialty,  too, 
You  see,  in  this  business  it 's  easy  to  go 
all  to  the  bad  unless  you  do  somethin'  for 
other  people.  You  have  to  have  a  kind 
124 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

of  religion  to  tie  to.  Mine  is  unitin'  and 
reunitin'  lovin'  hearts.  Of  course  you  're 
saying  that  this  is  a  lot  of  foolishness. 
Never  mind."  She  paused  a  moment, 
and  plied  the  needle.  "What's  the 
trouble  between  you  and  that  slim  little 
niece  of  Mrs.  Markham's  that  you  want 
her  aunt  exposed?  An'  can't  I  fix  it  some 
other  way?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  Miss  Mark- 
ham?"  asked  the  sitter. 

"I  've  opened  myself  up  to  you  like  a 
school-girl  in  a  cosey  corner  chat,"  said 
Rosalie  Le  Grange;  "ain't  it  time  you  was 
doin'  some  confidin'?" 

"Did  you  ever  hear  that  Miss  Mark- 
ham  had  been  brought  up  to  be  a  medium? 
That  she  must  n't  marry  because  it  would 
destroy  her  powers  ?  That  she 's  been 
taught  to  believe  that  she  will  never 
develop  fully  until  she 's  put  aside  an 
earthly  love?" 

"O-ho!"  quoth  Rosalie;  "so  that's  the 
way  the   wind   sets!     My!     I   must   say 
that 's  the  f  akiest  thing  I  ever  heard  about 
125 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Mrs.  Markham.  We  all  know  that  a 
medium  's  born.  This  dark  room  devel- 
opin'  seance  work  is  bosh  to  stall  the  dopes 
along.  Still,  Mrs.  Markham  has  always 
played  a  lone  hand.  She  's  never  mixed 
with  other  mediums,  which  is  why  I  '11  be 
safe  in  goin'  into  her  house — she  won't 
recognize  me.  Probably  she  's  kept  some 
fool  notions  that  the  rest  of  us  lost  long 
ago.  But  the  poor  little  puss!" — her 
voice  sank  to  a  ripple — "the  poor  little 
puss!"  Her  eyes  grew  tender,  and  ten 
derly  they  met  the  softened  eyes  of  the 
young  man.  "Just  robbin'  her  of  her 
girlhood!  I  wonder" — her  voice  grew 
harder  as  she  turned  to  practical  consid 
eration  of  the  subject — "if  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  got  the  idea  from  them  Yogis  and 
adepts  and  things  that  she  mixed  with  in 
India.  Just  like  'em.  They  Ve  got  the 
real  thing,  but  they  're  little,  crawling 
Dagoes  with  no  more  blood  in  'em  than 
a  swarm  of  horseflies." 

"It  is  terrible  to  think  of,"  said  the 
sitter. 

126 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

"You  poor  dear,  I  should  say  so!" 
responded  Rosalie.  "Of  course,  I  see 
what  you  want  done.  If  I  can  prove 
that  Mrs.  Markham  is  a  fake,  then  I  prove 
to  the  girl  that  it 's  all  bosh  about  her 
not  marrying.  I  can't  give  you  no 
encouragement  as  far  as  exposin'  goes, 
seein'  's  I  know  Mrs.  Markham  is  real,  but 
if  I  'm  on  the  ground,  maybe  I  can  fix 
it  some  other  way.  How  are  you  goin' 
to  git  me  into  the  house?" 

"This  week,"  responded  her  co-conspir 
ator,  "Mrs.  Markham  will  advertise  for 
a  housekeeper.  I  suppose  you  can  play 
housekeeper  well  enough  to  keep  the  place 
a  month,  can't  you?" 

"If  there's  anythin'  I  can  do," 
responded  Rosalie,  "it 's  keep  house.  Is 
it  a  big  house?" 

"Three  stories — three  or  four  servants, 
I  suppose." 

"That's  good;  I'll  enjoy  it;  I  never 
had  a  chance  at  that!1" 

"Remember  you  must  get  the   place 
from  the  other  applicants." 
127 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"If  my  mediumship  has  n't  taught  me 
enough  to  git  me  a  plain  job,  it  has  n't 
taught  me  nothing"  responded  Rosalie. 

"Then  it 's  as  good  as  done,"  answered 
the  young  man.  "Shall  I  pay  you  now 
or  later?  Mrs.  Markham's  salary  will  be 
your  tip." 

"It 's  a  good  paymaster  that  pays  when 
the  job  's  got,"  answered  Rosalie.  Her 
sitter  rose,  as  though  to  go. 

"Confidences  is  like  love,"  said  Rosalie, 
"first  sight  or  not  for  ten  years.  Here 
I  Ve  opened  my  whole  bag  of  tricks,  and 
yours  is  locked  tight.  Don't  you  think 
you  might  tell  me  your  name?" 

The  young  man  reached  for  a  card. 

"Dr.  Blake,"  he  said  as  he  fumbled. 

"Walter  Huntington  Blake,  Curfew 
Club,"  corrected  Rosalie. 

His  hands  dropped,  and  he  stared. 

"How— how— " 

"Spirits — my  kind."     Rosalie  extended 

her  hand.     In  it  rested  his  little  card  case. 

"Excuse  me.     I  done  it  just  to  show  you 

I  wasn't  quite  a  darn  fool,  if  I  do  tell 

128 


"THEN  IT'S  AS  GOOD  AS  DONE' 


ENTER  ROSALIE  LE  GRANGE 

everything  I  know  to  a  stranger.  Now 
don't  get  silly  an'  think  from  this  mar 
velous  demonstration  that  I  Ve  been 
givin'  you  a  con  talk.  It's  just  a  les 
son  not  to  take  your  card  case  along  when 
you  visit  a  medium.  It 's  a  proof  that 
I  can  expose  Mrs.  Markham  if  there  's 
anything  to  expose.  Good-by  Dr.  Blake, 
and  good  luck." 

The  following  Wednesday,  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  messenger  boy 
woke  Mme.  Le  Grange  by  prolonged 
knocking.  He  passed  in  this  note: 

Answer  early  the  third  advertisement,  third 
column,  sixth  page,  in  the  Herald  Help  Wanted 
column.  From  the  address,  I  know  it  is  Mrs. 
M.'s. 

W.  H.  BLAKE. 


129 


VII 

ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

"DOSALIE  LE  GRANGE,  upon 
A  ^  assuming  her  position  as  house 
keeper  in  the  Markham  establishment,  had 
Written  Dr.  Blake  that  Tuesday  was  her 
afternoon  out,  and  suggesting  that  he 
meet  her  every  Tuesday  afternoon  at 
three  in  the  ladies'  parlor  of  the  old  Hotel 
Greenwich,  which  lay  far  from  main  lines 
of  traffic  and  observation.  So  they  sat 
on  the  faded  velvets  of  the  Greenwich 
that  fall  afternoon,  heads  together  in 
close  conference. 

"You  're  wastin'  your  money,"  began 
Rosalie. 

"Tell  me  about  Miss  Markham  first," 
he  interrupted;  "is  she  well?" 

"As  well  as  she  ever  is — that  girl 's  far 
from  strong.  The  more  I  think  of  this 
130 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

job" — she  reverted  to  her  subject — "the 
more  meechin'  I  feel  about  it,  spyin'  on 
a  good  woman  an'  a  great  medium  like 
her.  Git  the  girl  away  from  her!  Let 
me  tell  you,  Dr.  Blake,  your  girl 's  the 
luckiest  girl  in  the  world,  and  I  don't  care 
if  I  have  to  say  it  right  into  your  face. 
If  I  Jd  had  a  chance  to  develop  my  me- 
diumship  straight  from  a  great  vessel  of 
the  spirit  like  that,  I  wouldn't  be  fakin' 
test  books,  and  robbin'  card  cases,  and 
givin'  demonstrations  to  store  girls  at  a 
dollar  a  trance.  To  learn  from  Mrs. 
Markham!  She  ought  to  thank  God  for 
the  chance." 

Then,  perceiving  that  she  had  left  his 
feelings  out  of  consideration — noticing 
by  the  droop  of  his  eyes  how  much  she 
had  depressed  him — she  patted  his  knee 
and  let  a  tender  smile  flutter  over  her 
dimples. 

"Of  course,  Boy,'*  she  said,  with  the 

sweet  patronage  of  woman,  "I  don't  take 

no  stock  in  the  notion  that  the  girl  has 

got  to  put  aside  earthly  love,  and  that 

131 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

kind  of  talk.  We  Ve  all  got  our  notions 
and  our  places — where  we  don't  follow 
the  spirit  guides.  Perhaps  that 's  just 
Mrs.  Markham's  weak  spot.  Maybe  her 
own  love  affairs  was  ashes  in  her  mouth. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  did  know 
who  Mr.  Markham  was.  What  I  'm 
tryin'  to  tell  you  is  that  you  Ve  got  your 
pig  by  the  wrong  ear,  for  you  can't  expose 
what 's  genuine.  And  I  'm  ashamed  of 
what  I  'm  doin',  and  if  I  had  n't  promised 
to  stay  a  month,  I  'd  leave  this  very  day." 
Her  companion  made  an  involuntary 
motion  of  alarm. 

"Don't  be  afraid — I  'm  not  goin'  to 
yet.  Gettin'  the  place  was  easy.  You 
want  a  housekeeper  stupid  and  respect 
able;  I  was  all  that.  I  was  bothered, 
before  I  got  started,  to  get  the  letters 
of  recommendation,  but  I  got  'em — never 
mind  how.  And  they  were  good,  too. 
I  'm  Mrs.  Granger,  as  I  told  you,  and 
I  'm  a  widow.  So  I  took  the  place  away 
from  a  Swede,  an  Irishwoman,  and  a 
French  ginny.  Right  at  the  start,  I 
132 


found  a  line  on  Mrs.  Markham.  When 
she  was  alone  with  me,  after  we  come  to 
terms,  she  was  just  as  kind  and  good  as 
any  lady  in  the  land.  I  don't  suppose 
that  means  anythin'  to  you,  but  it  did 
to  me.  Big  fakirs  and  crooks  just  live 
their  lives  in  terror,  afraid  of  their  own 
shadows.  They  've  got  to  be  sweet  and 
kind  on  the  outside,  and  so  they  take  out 
their  crossness  and  irritation  on  the  help. 
I  'd  rather  be  keeper  in  an  asylum  than 
cook  to  a  burglar.  But  Mrs.  Markham 
was  fine — and  no  airs  and  no  softness. 
If  the  spirit  ever  hallowed  a  face,  it 's 
hers.  I  know  you  don't  like  her,  and  you 
can't  be  blamed — her  keeping  your  little 
girl  from  you!  But  you  must  have 
noticed  her  voice,  how  pretty  it  is  if  she 
does  talk  English  fashion.  Now  that 
was  my  first  sight  into  her.  Whatever 
she  's  done,  she  's  never  done  material- 
izin',  which  is  just  where  pure,  proved 
f akin'  begins.  It  Js  as  soft  as  a  girl's. 
It  would  n't  be  if  she  'd  worked  up  her 
voices  for  men  controls.  I  've  been  com- 
133 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

plimented  on  my  voice  myself,  but  you 
must  have  noticed  the  way  it  slides  down 
and  gits  deep  every  little  while.  That 's 
left  to  show  I  did  materializin'  in  St. 
Paul;  and  I  'm  ashamed  of  it,  too.  My, 
how  I  wander  around  in  Robin  Hood's 
barn!  But  I 'm  full  of  it." 

"Tell  me  everything,"  he  said,  "and  in 
your  own  way." 

"  'You  know  my  profession  ?'  says  Mrs. 
Markham. 

"  'No,  Ma'am,'  says  I. 

"  'I  'm  a  religious  teacher,  in  a  way,' 
says  she.  'A  medium  if  you  care  to  call 
it  that.  I  prefer  another  name.' 

"  *  A  medium!'  says  I.  'My!  I  was 
to  a  medium  last  week !' 

"Perhaps  you  don't  see  why  I  done 
that.  'T  was  to  give  her  an  opening. 
First  move,  when  you  're  f akin'  on  a  big 
scale,  is  to  make  dopes  out  of  your  ser 
vants.  Git  'em  to  swallow  the  whole 
thing;  then  find  the  yellow  spot,  work  it, 
and  pull  'em  into  your  fakin'.  But  she 
never  followed  the  lead,  even  so  much  as 
134 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

to  seem  interested.  'Indeed?'  says  she. 
'Well,  I  see  only  a  few  callers,  and  usually 
in  the  evening.  I  'm  a  little  particular 
about  bein'  disturbed  at  such  times,  and 
I  must  ask  you  not  to  come  below  the 
top  floor  on  such  evenings.  Ellen,  the 
parlor  maid,  always  sits  by  the  front  door 
to  answer  the  bell.'  That  was  a  relief. 
I  was  afraid  I  'd  have  to  answer  bells, 
which  would  have  been  risky.  Dopes  that 
follow  big  mediums  go  to  little  ones  some 
times  ;  there  was  a  chance  that  I  'd  let  in 
one  of  my  own  sitters  and  be  recognized. 
And  the  arrangement  didn't  look  faky 
to  me  as  it  may  to  you ;  for  a  fact,  you  're 
just  a  bundle  of  nerves  when  you  're 
coming  in  and  out  of  real  control. 

"  'And  I  hope  you  '11  be  comfortable,' 
says  she,  'I  'm  coming  up  this  evening  to 
see  if  your  room  is  all  right  and  if  there  's 
anything  you  want.  You  '11  like  my  ser 
vants,  I  think.' 

"Right  there  I  began  to  be  ashamed 
of  our  game,  and  it  hasn't  got  any  less, 
I  '11  tell  you. 

135 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"It  was  hard  work  getting  the  job  to 
runnin',  and  I  did  n't  have  much  time 
for  pokin'  into  things.  When  I  did  git 
room  to  turn  around,  I  went  through  that 
whole  house  pretendin'  to  take  inventor 
ies.  I  did  n't  find  a  thing  that  looked  out 
of  place,  or  faky.  Not  a  scrap  of  notes 
on  sitters,  not  a  trap,  not  a  slate,  not  a 
thread  of  silk  mull,  not  a  spark  of  phos 
phorus.  I  was  n't  fool  enough  to  break 
the  rule  about  coming  downstairs  when 
she  had  sitters.  Let  her  catch  me  spyin', 
and  the  bird 's  gone.  But  last  Sunday 
night  I  had  a  fair  chance.  I  knew  it 
would  come  if  I  waited.  There  's  three 
servants  under  me — Mary  the  cook,  who  's 
a  hussy;  and  Martin  the  furnace  man, 
who  's  a  drunk ;  and  Ellen,  who  's  a  fool. 
I  'd  listened  to  'em  talking  and  I  'd 
pumped  'em  gradual,  but  I  could  n't  git 
a  definite  thing — and  what  the  help  don't 
know  about  the  crooked  places  in  their 
bosses  ain't  generally  worth  knowin'. 
Ellen,  the  maid,  ought  to  'a'  been  my 
best  card — her  sittin'  every  night  at  the 
136 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

door  catchin'  what  comes  out  of  the  par 
lors.  She  could  n't  tell  a  thing.  All  she 
knew  was  that  she  heard  a  lot  of  talk 
in  low  tones,  and  it  was  something  about 
spirits  and  the  devil,  and  then  she  crossed 
herself.  As  help  goes,  they  like  Mrs. 
Markham,  which  is  a  good  sign. 

"Last  Sunday,  at  supper,  Ellen  begins 
to  complain  of  a  pain  in  her  head.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  'd  better  take,  just 
once,  the  chance  of  being  recognized  by  a 
sitter,  an'  'tend  door  for  the  seance.  So 
I  begun  with  Ellen. 

'You  're  sick,  child,'  says  I,  havin' 
her  alone  at  the  time.  'It  looks  to  me 
like  neuralgia.' 

"Well,  you  're  a  doctor — I  don't  have 
to  tell  you  how  easy  it  is  to  make  a  per 
son  think  they  're  sick.  And  that 's  my 
specialty — makin'  people  think  things. 
In  half  an  hour,  I  had  that  girl  whoop- 
in'  an'  Martin  telephonin'  for  a  doctor. 
Then  I  broke  the  news  over  the  house 
telephone  to  Mrs.  Markham.  She  waited 
ten  minutes,  and  called  me  down.  It 
137 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

come  out  just  as  I  figured.  She  wanted 
me  to  'tend  door.  I  'd  been  playin'  the 
genteel  stupid,  you  know,  so  she  trusted 
me.  And  I  must  say  I  'd  rather  she 
hated  me,  the  way  I  'm  out  to  do  her. 
She  told  me  that  I  was  to  sit  by  the  door 
and  bring  in  the  names  of  callers,  and  if 
anyone  come  after  eight  o'clock,  I  was 
to  step  into  the  outside  hall  and  get  rid 
of  'em  as  quick  as  I  could.  Now  let  me 
tell  you,  that  killed  another  suspicion. 
One  way,  the  best  way  of  f akin'  in  a  big 
house,  is  to  have  the  maid  rob  the  pockets 
of  people's  wraps  for  letters  an'  calling 
cards  an'  such.  I  'd  thought  maybe  Ellen 
played  that  game,  she  acted  so  stupid ;  but 
here  I  was  lettin'  in  the  visitors,  me  only 
a  week  in  the  house.  I  took  the  coats  off 
her  callers  myself  and  I  watched  them 
wraps  all  the  time.  Nobody  ever  ap 
proached  'em  while  I  looked.  She  had 
only  four  sitters,  two  men  and  two  women 
— an  old  married  couple  an'  a  brother  an' 
sister,  I  took  it  from  their  looks  an'  the 
way  they  acted  toward  each  other.  The 
138 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

old  couple  were  rich  and  tony.  They 
didn't  flash  any  jewelry,  but  her  shoes 
and  gloves  were  made  to  order  and  her 
coat  had  a  Paris  mark  inside.  The 
brother  and  sister  must  be  way  up,  too; 
he  was  dressed  quiet  but  rich,  and  he  had 
a  Bankers'  Association  pin  in  his  button 
hole.  Yes,  they  wasn't  paupers,  and 
that 's  the  only  fake  sign  I  Ve  seen  about 
Mrs.  Markham.  But  that's  nothin'. 
Stands  to  reason  the  best  people  go  to 
the  best  mediums,  just  like  they  go  to  the 
best  doctors  and  preachers. 

"That  sittin',  you  hear  me,  was  real. 
I  got  by  the  double  doors  where  I  could 
listen.  You  just  hear  me — it  was  real. 
You  ain't  a  sensitive.  You  Ve  followed 
knowledge  and  not  influences,  and  it 's 
going  to  be  hard  for  me  to  git  this  into 
you.  So  I  '11  tell  you  first  how  it  would 
have  looked  to  you,  and  then  how  it  looked 
to  me.  I  'm  not  sayin'  what  she  gave 
was  n't  something  she  got  out  of  test 
books  and  memorandums,  because  I  don't 
know  her  people  or  yet  how  much  she  'd 
139 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

had  to  do  with  them.  It  was  the  way  it 
come  out  that  impressed  me.  First 
place,  she  did  n't  go  into  trance.  That 's 
a  fake  to  impress  dopes,  nine  times  out  of 
ten.  If  you  ever  git  anything  real  from 
me,  you  '11  git  it  out  of  half  trance. 
Then  she  did  n't  feel  around  an'  fish,  an' 
neither  did  she  hit  the  bull's  eye  every 
time.  She  'd  get  the  truth  all  tangled 
up.  John  would  say  a  true  thing,  that 
only  he  knew,  and  she  'd  think  she  got  it 
from  James.  Her  sitters  were  fine 
acknowledgers,  especially  the  old  maid, 
and  I  could  tell.  That 's  how  i  would 
'a'  looked  to  you,  and  now  let  me  tell  you 
how  it  struck  me.  You  don't  have  to  be 
lieve  it. 

"I  was  sittin'  there  just  takin'  it  all  in, 
when  I  began  to  get  influences.  Now 
laugh;  but  you  won't  stop  me.  It  never 
struck  me  so  strong  in  my  life  as  it  did 
right  there.  And  it  all  come  from  Mrs. 
Markham.  It  was  like  a  sweet  smell 
radiatin'  from  that  room,  and  just  makin' 
me  drunk.  It  was  like — maybe  you  Ve 
140 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

heard  John  B.  Gough  speak.  Remember 
how  he  had  you  while  you  listened?  Re 
member  how  you  believed  like  he  did  and 
felt  everything  was  right  and  you  could 
do  anything?  Now  that  is  as  near  like  it 
as  I  can  tell  you  and  yet  that  ain't  it  by 
half.  You  ain't  a  sensitive.  You  can't 
git  just  what  I  mean. 

"An'  then  I  begun  to  see.  I  can't  tell 
you  all;  I  was  half  out;  but  just  this  for 
a  sample:  I  had  a  sitter  last  week,  an 
old  lady;  an'  the  sittin'  was  a  failure. 
Yes,  I  was  fishin'  and  pumpin',  but  she 
was  close-mouthed  an'  suspicious.  I  got 
it  out  of  her  that  she  was  worried  about 
her  boy.  I  tried  a  bad  love  affair  for  a 
lead,  an'  there  was  nothing  doing.  I 
tried  bad  habits  and  it  was  just  as  far 
away;  and  I  give  it  up  and  was  thankful 
I  got  fifty  cents  out  of  her.  Well,  while 
I  sat  there  listenin'  to  Mrs.  Markham, 
right  into  my  mind  came  a  picture — the 
old  lady  leanin'  over  a  young  man — her 
pale  and  shaky  and  him  surprised  an' 
mad, — and  he  held  a  pen  in  his  hand,  an' 
141 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

I  got  the  word  'forgery!'  That 's  one  of 
the  things  I  saw  while  that  influence  come 
from  Mrs.  Markham;  and  if  you  only 
knew  how  seldom  I  git  anything  real 
nowadays,  you  'd  be  as  crazy  as  me  about 
her.  I  just  had  to  use  all  the  force  I  've 
got  to  look  stupid  when  the  sitters  went 
out." 

Rosalie  had  talked  on,  oblivious  to  Dr. 
Blake's  anxieties  and  feelings.  He  sat 
there,  the  embodiment  of  disappointment. 

"As  perfect  a  case  of  auto-suggestion 
as  I  ever  knew,"  his  professional  mind  was 
thinking.  But  he  expressed  in  words  his 
deeper  thought: 

"Then  that  line  fails." 

"I  'm  sorry,  boy,"  responded  Rosalie, 
"but  I  'm  doin'  my  job  straight,  and  you 
would  n't  want  it  done  any  other  way. 
And  I  feel  you  '11  git  her  somehow ;  if  not 
this  way,  some  other.  And  the  longer  the 
wait  the  stronger  the  love,  /  say.  She 
don't  seem  any  too  happy,  even  if  Mrs. 
Markham  does  treat  her  well." 
142 


ROSALIE'S  FIRST  REPORT 

"Does  n't  she?"  he  asked,  his  face  light 
ing  with  a  melancholy  relief. 

"Good  symptom  for  you,  ain't  it? 
And  I  can't  think  of  nothing  else  that 
can  be  on  her  mind.  But  how  that  girl 
passes  her  days,  I  don't  know.  It  must 
be  dull  for  her,  poor  little  bird.  She  and 
Mrs.  Markham  ain't  much  apart.  She 
looks  at  Mrs.  Markham  like  a  dog  looks 
at  his  master,  she 's  that  fond  of  her. 
Seems  to  read  a  lot,  and  twice  they  Ve 
been  out  in  the  evening — theater,  or  so  the 
chauffeur  said.  We  don't  have  no  pri 
vate  car.  We  hire  one  by  the  month  from 
a  garage.  An'  if  I  ever  liked  a  girl  and 
wanted  to  see  her  happy,  that 's  the 
one!" 

Rosalie  rose.  "Must  do  some  shoppin'. 
Can't  say  I  hope  for  better  news  next 
week,  not  the  kind  of  good  news  you  're 
looking  for.  But  I  'm  hopin'  for  good 
news  in  the  end." 

Dr.  Blake  remained  sitting,  his  head 
dropped  in  depression  on  his  breast. 
143 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Rosalie  stooped  to  pat  it  with  a  motherly 
gesture. 

"Just  remember  this,"  she  said,  "you 
love  her  and  she  loves  you  or  I  miss  my 
guess,  an'  there  ain't  no  beatin'  that  com 
bination.  If  I  was  fakin'  with  you  I 
would  n't  need  no  more  than  that  to  make 
me  see  your  two  names  in  a  ring.  And 
remember  this,  too,  boy!  There  never 
was  anything  that  turned  out  just  the 
way  you  expected.  You  figure  on  it 
twenty  ways.  It  always  beats  you;  and 
yet  when  you  look  back,  you  say,  'Of 
course;  what  a  fool  I  was.'  Good-by, 
boy — here  next  Tuesday  at  three  unless 
I  tell  you  different  by  letter."  Rosalie 
was  gone. 

Dr.  Blake  walked  in  the  park  that  night 
until  dawn  broke  over  the  city  roofs. 
And  he  drew  out  a  dull  and  anxious  ex 
istence, — shot  and  broken  with  whims, 
fancies,  all  the  irregularities  of  a  lover,— 
during  the  week  in  which  he  awaited 
Rosalie's  next  report. 

144 


VIII 

THE   FISH   NIBBLES 

QUIETLY,  naturally,  giving  a  pre 
liminary  word  of  direction  to  the 
maid  as  she  lifted  the  portieres,  Mrs. 
Markham  entered  the  drawing  room. 
Pricking  with  a  sense  of  impatience, 
tinctured  by  nervousness  over  his  own 
folly,  Robert  H.  Norcross  awaited  her 
there.  She  stood  a  moment  regarding 
him;  in  that  moment,  the  quick  percep 
tion,  veiled  away  by  an  expression  of 
thought,  to  which  the  railroad  baron 
owed  so  much,  took  her  all  in.  Super 
ficially,  he  saw  a  tall  woman,  approaching 
fifty,  but  still  vigorous  and  free  from 
over-burdening  flesh. 

"Good  evening;  I  am  glad  to  see  you," 
she  said  quietly.     She  had  a  low  voice 
and  pleasing.     He  remembered  then  that 
145 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

he  had  failed  to  rise,  so  intent  had  he  been 
on  her  face;  and  he  got  to  his  feet 
in  some  embarrassment.  As  she  ap 
proached  him,  his  mind,  going  from  de 
tail  to  detail,  noticed  her  powerful  head, 
her  Grecian  nose,  rising  without  indenta 
tion  from  a  straight  forehead,  her  firm 
but  pleasant  mouth,  her  large,  light  gray 
eyes  which  looked  a  little  past  him. 
Here  was  a  person  on  his  own  level  of 
daring  mental  flight.  He  remembered 
only  one  other  woman  who  had  struck 
him  with  the  force  of  this  one.  That 
other  was  an  actress,  supreme  in  her  gen 
eration  not  so  much  for  temperament  as 
for  mind.  As  he  looked  over  a  reception 
crowd  at  her,  intellect  had  spoken  to  in 
tellect;  they  had  known  each  other.  So 
Paula  Markham  struck  him  on  first  sight. 

He  was  about  to  speak,  but  she  put  in 
her  word  first. 

"Do  you   come  personally  or  profes 
sionally?     I  had  an  engagement  for  an 
unknown  visitor  on  professional  business. 
Are  you  he?     For  if  you  are,  it  would  be 
146 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

better  for  you  not  to  tell  me  your  name — 
I  am  Mrs.  Markham." 

"I  came  professionally,"  he  said.  He 
paused.  The  manner  of  Norcross,  on 
all  first  meetings,  was  timid  and  hesitat 
ing.  It  was  one  of  his  unconscious 
tricks.  Because  of  that  timidity,  new^ 
comers,  in  trying  to  put  him  at  his  ease* 
revealed  themselves  to  his  shrewd  observa 
tion.  But  there  was  a  real  embarrass 
ment  at  this  meeting.  He  was  approach 
ing  the  subject  which  had  lain  close  to  his 
imagination  ever  since  three  days  ago, 
when  Bulger  said  carelessly  that  a  woman 
had  given  him  the  address  of  the  best 
spook  medium  in  the  business. 

"I  want  to  know,"  he  said,  "all  about — 
myself." 

She  laughed  lightly  as  she  seated  her 
self  in  an  old-fashioned  straight-back 
chair. 

"If  I  should  tell  you  that,"  she  said, 

"I  would  give  you  the  sum  and  substance 

of  human  wisdom.     That   seems  to  me 

the  greatest  mystery  of  the  unknowable. 

147 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

No  human  being  ever  thoroughly  under 
stood  any  other  human  being,  I  suppose, 
— and  yet  no  human  being  knows  him 
self.  If  you  search  yourself,  you  find 
mystery.  If  you  ask  others,  you  find 
double  mystery.  Perhaps  that  is  the 
knowledge  which  is  reserved  for  the 
Divine." 

"That  is  true,"  responded  Norcross. 
"That  is  true.  But  your  spirits— 

"Not  mine,"  she  interrupted.  "And 
perhaps  not  spirits,  either.  Though  they 
speak  to  me,  I  cannot  say  that  they  are 
real,  any  more  than  I  can  tell  that  this 
table,  these  clothes" — her  long,  expres 
sive,  ringless  hand  swept  across  the  area 
of  her  skirt — "than  you  yourself,  are 
real.  All  reality  and  unreality  may  dwell 
in  the  mind.  Though  personally,"  she 
added,  "I  prefer  to  believe  that  this  chair, 
these  clothes,  you,  I,  are  real.  And  if 
they  are  real,  so  are  the  Voices.  At 
least,  so  I  believe." 

This  philosophy  was  past  any  power  of 
Norcross  for  repartee ;  the  faculties  which 
148 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

deal  with  such  things  had  wasted  in  him 
during  thirty  years  in  Wall  Street.  But 
the  effect  of  her  voice,  her  ladyhood,  and 
her  command  of  this  philosophy — those 
moved  him. 

"Will  your  voices  tell  me  anything?" 
he  asked,  irrelevantly,  yet  coming  straight 
to  the  point. 

"Impatience,"  she  answered,  "will  not 
help  you.  The  power  bloweth  where  it 
listeth.  That  impatience  is  one  of  the 
roads  to  trickery  employed  by  the  frauds 
of — my  profession." 

A  smile  lifted  the  mustache  of  Nor- 
cross. 

"You  admit  that  there  are  frauds  in 
your  profession,  then?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes!"  she  smiled  back  at  him. 
"It  lends  itself  so  easily  to  fraud  that  the 
temptation  among  the  little  people  must 
be  overwhelming — the  more  because 
trickery  is  often  more  accurate  than  real 
revelation.  I  will  confess  to  you  that  this 
is  the  rock  upon  which  my  powers  and  my 
mission  seem  sometimes  most  likely  to 
149 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

split.  But  I  console  myself  by  thinking 
that  all  of  us,  great  as  well  as  small,  must 
be  on  the  verge  of  it  sometimes.  Let  me 
draw  you  a  parallel.  Perhaps  you  know 
something  of  the  old  alchemists.  They 
had  laid  hold  on  the  edge  of  chemistry. 
But  because  that  truth  came  confused, 
because  they  all  had  things  by  the  wrong 
handle,  a  thousand  of  them  confused 
truth  with  error  until,  in  the  end,  they 
did  not  know  right  from  wrong.  This 
force  in  which  you  and  I  are  interested  is 
a  little  like  chemistry — it  may  be  called 
mental  and  spiritual  chemistry.  But  be 
cause  it  deals  with  the  unseen,  not  with 
the  seen,  it  is  a  thousand  times  more  un 
certain  and  baffling.  We  have  ears,  eyes, 
touch — a  great  equipment — to  perceive 
gold,  silver,  stones,  trees,  water.  But  we 
have  only  this  mind,  a  mystery  even  to 
ourselves,  to  perceive  an  idea,  a  concept. 
I  wish  that  I  could  express  it  better" — 
she  broke  off  suddenly — "and  very  likely 
I  'm  boring  you — but  when  your  whole 
soul  is  full  of  a  thing  it  will  overflow." 
150 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

She  smiled  upon  Norcross,  as  though  for 
sympathy.  If  he  gave  it,  his  face  did  not 
betray  him. 

"Then  you  say,"  returned  Norcross 
with  one  of  his  characteristic  shifts  to 
childlike  abruptness,  "that  you  never 
faked?" 

Mrs.  Markham,  as  though  daring  him 
to  provoke  her  by  his  forthrightness, 
leaned  forward  and  regarded  him  with 
amusement  on  her  lips.  "Men  are  only 
boys,"  she  said.  "My  dear  sir — I  could 
almost  say  'my  dear  boy' — if  I  had,  would 
I  admit  it?  You  must  take  me  as  I  am 
and  form  your  own  conclusions.  I  shall 
not  help  you  with  that,  even  though  I 
admit  to  you  that  I  don't  care  very  much 
what  your  conclusions  are. 

"To  be  serious,"  she  added,  "it  is  not  a 
pleasant  suspicion  to  hear  of  one's  self. 
Now  take  yourself — you  are  a  man  of 
large  practical  affairs— 

Norcross   leaned   forward  a  trifle,   as 
though    expecting    revelation    to    begin. 
She  caught  the  motion. 
151 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Don't  think  I  'm  telling  you  that 
from  any  supernormal  source,"  she  said. 
"That 's  my  own  intelligence — my  wom 
an's  intuition  if  you  like  to  call  it  so. 
Your  air,  your  ineptness  to  understand 
philosophy,  show  that  you  are  not  in  one 
of  the  learned  professions,  and  it  is  easy 
to  see,  if  I  may  make  so  bold" — here  she 
smiled  a  trifle — "that  you  are  no  ordinary 
person.  You  have  the  air  of  great  things 
about  you.  Well,  if  I  should  raise  sus 
picion  against  your  business  integrity  and 
your  methods,  it  would  hurt  for  a  mo 
ment,  even  if  there  were  truth  in  it.  In 
fairness,  that  is  so,  is  it  not?" 

"I  have  to  beg  your  pardon,  of  course," 
said  Norcross,  grown  easier  in  his  manner. 
"But  you  must  remember  that  your  pro 
fession  has  to  prove  itself — that  they  're 
all  accused  of  fraud." 

"Now  that  you  have  apologized,"  said 
she,  "I  will  prove  that  I  have  accepted 
the  apology  by  answering  you  direct. 
I  am  not  a  fraud.  I  have  been  able  to 
afford  not  to  be.  Still,  I  have  a  little 
152 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

sympathy  with  those  who  are.  Did  you 
ever  consider,"  she  went  on,  "that  no 
fraud  invents  anything;  that  he  is  only 
imitating  something  genuine?  Perhaps 
it  may  shake  whatever  faith  you  have  in 
me  if  I  tell  you  whatever  these  people 
profess  to  do  has  been  done  genuinely  and 
without  possibility  of  fraud." 

"Even  bringing  spirits  from  a  cabi 
net?"  he  asked.  Just  as  he  spoke  that 
question,  an  electric  bell  rang  somewhere 
to  the  rear  of  the  drawing-room.  Mrs. 
Markham  sat  unmoving  for  an  instant, 
as  though  considering  either  the  sound  or 
his  question.  The  bell  tinkled  no  more. 
After  a  moment,  she  smiled  again. 

"You  must  know  more  of  all  these 
things  before  I  can  answer  your  question. 
Haven't  we  talked  enough?  Wouldn't 
it  be  better,  in  your  present  condition  of 
suspicion,  if  I  try  to  see  what  we  can  do 
without  seeming  any  further  to  inspect 
you?  For  you  must  know  that  long  pre 
liminary  conversation  is  a  stock  method 
with  frauds  and  fakirs." 
153 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Norcross's  breath  came  a  little  faster, 
and  a  curious  change  passed  for  a  second 
over  his  face — a  falling  of  all  the  masses 
and  lines.  Mrs.  Markham  rose,  sat  by 
the  table,  under  the  reading-lamp,  and 
shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  She 
spoke  now  in  a  different  tone,  softer  and 
less  inflected. 

• 

"I  shall  probably  not  go  into  trance," 
she  said.  "That  is  rare  with  me,  rare 
with  anyone,  though  often  assumed  for 
effect.  Of  you,  I  ask  only  that  you  re 
main  quiet  and  passive.  I  'd  like  less 
light." 

Norcross  shot  a  glance  of  quick  sus 
picion  at  her  as  he  rose,  reached  for  the 
old-fashioned  gas  chandelier,  and  turned 
the  jets  down  to  tiny  points. 

"Oh,  dear  no!"  spoke  Mrs.  Markham, 
"not  so  low  as  that — this  is  no  dark  seance. 
I  merely  meant  that  the  lights  are  too 
strong  for  a  pair  of  sensitive  eyes.  I  feel 
everything  when  I  am  in  this  condition. 
Would  you  mind  sitting  a  little  further 
away?  Thank  you.  I  think  that 's 
154 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

right.  Please  do  not  speak  to  me  until 
I  speak,  and  do  not  be  disappointed  if  I 
tell  you  nothing." 

For  five  minutes,  no  sound  broke  the 
silence  in  Mrs.  Markham's  drawing-room, 
except  the  hiss  of  a  light,  quick  breath 
and  the  intake  and  outgo  of  a  heavier, 
slower  one.  And  so  suddenly,  with  such 
smothered  intensity,  that  Norcross  started 
in  his  seat,  Mrs.  Markham's  voice  emitted 
the  first  quaver  of  a  musical  note.  She 
held  it  for  a  moment,  before  she  began 
to  hum  over  and  over  three  bars  of  an  old 
tune — "Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid, 
bright  Alfaretta."  Thrice  she  hummed 
it,  still  sitting  with  her  hand  over  her 
eyes. — "Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid- 
Then  silence.  But  now,  the  breath  of 
Norcross  was  coming  more  heavily,  and 
the  masses  of  his  face  had  still  further 
fallen.  After  an  interval,  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  spoke,  in  a  low,  even  tone : 

"It  is  Lallie." 

Another  period  of  heavy  silence. 

"I  cannot  see  her  nor  hear  her  speak. 
155 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Martha,  my  control,  is  speaking  for  her. 
But  Martha  shows  me  the  picture  of  a 
child — a  little  girl  in  an  old-fashioned 
dress.  And  I  think  she  is  saying  that 
name — Lallie." 

The  silence  again,  so  that  when  Nor- 
cross  moistened  his  dry  lips  with  his 
tongue  the  slight  smack  seemed  like  the 
crackle  of  a  fire. 

"I  see  it  more  clearly  now  and  I  under 
stand.  The  child  gave  her  that  name,  but 
someone  else  used  it  for  a  love  name.  It 
was  just  between  those  two."  The  rest 

came  in   scattered   sentences,   with   long 

&  . 

pauses  between — "I  hear  that  song  again 

— it  was  her  favorite — I  understand  now 
why  it  comes — she  was  singing  it  when 
-Yes,  you  are  the  man — when  you  told 
her — She  calls  you  Bobbert — and  now  I 
cannot  see." 

A  bead  of  perspiration  had  appeared  so 

suddenly   on   the   forehead   of   Norcross 

that  it  had  the  effect  of  bursting  from  a 

pore.     He  was  on  his  feet,  was  pacing  the 

156 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

floor  in  his  jerky  little  walk.  When, 
after  one  course  of  the  drawing-room,  he 
turned  back,  Mrs.  Markham  had  taken 
her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  was  facing 
him. 

"Oh,  why  did  you  do  that?"  she  asked. 
"It  has  its  effect  on  me — you  do  not 
know  how  much!"  Her  manner  spoke  a 
smothered  irritation.  "I  shall  not  see 
Lallie  to-night.  And  she  was  very  near." 

As  though  something  had  clicked  and 
fallen  into  place  within  him,  Norcross 
straightened  and  stiffened,  controlled  the 
relaxed  muscles  of  his  face,  flashed  his 
eyes  on  Mrs.  Markham. 

"Might  I  ask  some  questions?"  he  said. 

"You  must  sit  quietly,"  she  answered, 
"and  though  I  can  never  see  so  well  after 
the  first  contact  breaks,  Martha  may 
speak  for  you.  Sit  as  you  did,  and  wait 
for  me."  Norcross  walked  at  his  nerv 
ous,  hurried  little  pace  back  to  his  seat  on 
the  sofa.  His  face  was  quite  controlled 
now,  and  his  sharp  eyes  held  all  their 
157 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

native  cunning.  That  grip  on  himself 
grew,  as  he  waited  for  the  inert  seeress  to 
speak  again. 

"Martha  says,  'I  will  try,' "  she  gave 
out  finally.  "Quick — with  your  question 
— with  your  lips,  not  your  mind — I  am 
not  strong  enough  now." 

"What  was  Lallie's  real  name?" 

"Helen." 

"Her  other  name?" 

A  pause,  then: 

"Martha  is  silent.  You  are  testing  me. 
Tell  something  you  want  to  know — even 
advice." 

"Was  there  ever  anyone  else?" 

A  pause  again,  then: 

"Never.  She  loved  you  wholly.  She 
was  angry  over  a  little  thing,  just  jeal 
ousy,  during  that  last  quarrel.  She  had 
already  forgiven.  It  was  only  a  girl's 
whim.  Do  you  want  advice?" 

Norcross  thrusted  obliquely  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye  at  Mrs.  Markham  and 
looked  down  at  the  floor. 

"Ask  her  if  I  shall  sell,"  he  said. 
158 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

The  answer  came  so  suddenly  that  it 
overlapped  the  last  words  of  his  sentence. 

"Martha  says  that  she  is  going  away." 
No  more  for  two  silent  minutes;  no  more 
until  Mrs.  Markham  dropped  her  hand 
from  her  eyes,  turned  to  Norcross,  and 
said  in  a  normal,  sprightly  tone: 

"It  is  all  over  for  this  evening.  I 
suppose  the  trouble  lay  in  your  last  ques 
tion.  I  am  sorry — if  you  came  here 
looking  for  business  advice — that  you 
got  only  the  things  of  the  affections.  To 
your  old  love  affairs,  I  had  an  unusually 
quick  response  to-night."  She  leaned 
heavily  back  in  her  chair.  "Excuse  me 
if  I  seem  tired.  There  is  a  kind  of  inner 
strain  about  this  which  you  cannot  know 
— a  strain  at  the  core.  It  does  not  affect 
the  surface,  but  it  makes  you  languid." 
Yet  her  manner,  as  she  threw  herself 
back,  invited  him  to  linger. 

"I  shall  not  ask  you,"  she  went  on, 
"whether  the  things  I  told  you  to-night 
are  true.  We  all  have  our  human  vani 
ties  in  our  work;  we  like  to  hear  it 
159 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

praised.  That  is  one  reason  why  I  do  not 
ask.  Then  I  know  without  your  con 
firmation  that  what  I  told  you  was  true. 
When  the  control  comes  as  clearly  and 
strongly  as  it  did  for  a  few  minutes  to 
night, — before  you  interrupted  by  rising 
—the  revelations  are  always  accurate  and 
true.  The  details  I  gave  you  are  trivial. 
That  is  generally  a  feature  of  a  first 
sitting.  The  scholars  have  found  an  ex 
planation  of  that  phenomenon,  and  I  am 
inclined  to  agree  with  them.  If  I  were 
talking  to  you  over  a  telephone  and  you 
were  not  sure  of  my  voice,  how  should  I 
identify  myself?  By  some  trivial  in 
cident  of  our  common  experience.  For 
example,  suppose  I  were  to  call  you  up 
to-morrow.  How  should  I  identify  my 
self?  Somewhat  like  this,  probably: 
'You  tried  to  turn  the  gas  out  completely, 
when  I  wanted  it  only  lowered  in  order 
to  save  my  eyes.'  Wouldn't  that  iden 
tify  me  to  you?"  she  paused  as  for  an  an 
swer. 

"As  nearly  as  you  could  over  a  tele- 
160 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

phone  wire,"  he  answered.  "You  're  a 
marvelously  clever  woman,  to  think  of 
that,"  he  added.  Mrs.  Markham  an 
swered,  on  the  wings  of  a  light  laugh : 

"If  I  appear  at  all  clever  by  contrast 
with  what  you  expected  to  find,  it  is  be 
cause  I  have  not  let  my  mind  dwell  in  a 
half -world,  as  have  so  many  others  of  my 
profession.  That  is  the  tendency.  I 
have  seen  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
combat  it.  I  believe,  too,  that  I  am  the 
stronger  for  it  in  my  work.  What  was 
I  saying?  Oh,  yes — about  the  first  con 
tact.  Probably  the  last  thought  of  the 
disembodied,  upon  assuming  the  trance 
state — for  I  believe  that  the  sender  of 
these  messages,  like  the  receivers,  have  to 
enter  an  abnormal  condition — is  to  prove 
their  identity.  That  is  only  natural,  is  it 
not?  Would  not  you  do  the  same? 
Think.  And  what  do  they  have  to  offer? 
One  of  those  intimate  memories  of  years 
past  which  linger  so  long  in  the  mind. 
Take  me  for  example.  What  should  I 
offer  to — well,  to  that  one  among  the  dis- 
161 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

embodied  who  means  most  to  me?  An 
adventure  in  stealing  cream  from  a  dairy 
house!"  As  though  she  were  carried 
away  by  this  memory,  her  face  grew  soft 
and  serious.  With  an  outward  sweep  of 
her  hands  and  a  quick  "but  then!"  she 
resumed : 

"The  best  judges  of  character — and 
you  must  be  such  a  one — make  their  mis 
takes.  Why  did  you  ask  that  question?" 

Norcross,  glib  and  effective  as  his 
tongue  could  be  when  he  directed  or 
traded,  found  now  no  better  answer  than : 

"Because  I  wanted  to  know,  I  sup 
pose." 

"Were  this  Helen  in  the  flesh — young 
and  inexperienced  as  she  was — would  you 
expect  her  to  give  you  advice  in  any  large 
affair  of  business — would  she  be  basically 
interested  in  it?  Interested  because  it  is 
yours  and  she  loves  you,  perhaps — but 
basically?  We  have  no  proof  that 
natures  change  out  there.  I  suppose  that 
is  n't  all,  either.  Is  she,  keeping  her  soul 
for  you  in  a  life  which  I  hope  is  better — is 
162 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

she  interested  in  whether  or  no  you  make 
a  little  more  money  and  position?  I  can 
conceive  only  one  condition  in  which  she 
would  mention  your  business.  If  you 
were  at  a  crossroads — if  great  danger  or 
great  deliverance  hung  on  your  decision 
—she  might  sense  that.  I  think  they 
must  get  it,  by  some  process  to  which  we 
are  blind,  from  other  disembodied 
spirits." 

"Suppose,  then,  that — Martha  I  think 
you  call  her — had  brought  some  old  busi 
ness  associate.  Would  he  have  answered 
me?" 

"Perhaps.  But  that  does  not  really 
explain  what  is  in  your  mind.  If  this 
business  matter  which  perplexes  you  were 
so  vital,  don't  you  suppose  that  some  one 
of  those  very  associates  would  have 
rushed  to  speak,  instead  of  a  dead  love? 
In  that  way,  I  think  I  can  construct  an 
answer — provided  you  ask  that  question 
in  good  faith.  It  is,  probably,  not  very 
important  whether  you  sell  or  no." 

Mrs.  Markham  rose  on  this.  Norcross 
163 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

caught  the  hint  in  her  manner,  and  rose 
with  her.  A  little  "oh!"  escaped  her,  and 
her  face  lighted. 

"I  know  who  you  are,  now!"  she  said. 
"You  are  Robert  H.  Norcross  of  the  Nor- 
cross  lines!" 

Norcross  started. 

"Please  do  not  think  I  got  that  by  any 
supernormal  means!"  she  added  quickly. 
"I  mention  it  only  to  be  frank  with  you. 
From  the  moment  I  saw  you,  I  was  per 
plexed  by  a  memory  and  a  resemblance. 
Then,  too,  I  caught  the  air  of  big  things 
about  you.  That  attitude  which  you  have 
just  taken  solved  it  all.  It  is  the  counter 
part  of  your  photograph  in  last  Sunday's 
Times — the  full-page  snap  shot.  I  must 
be  frank  with  you  or  you  will  not  believe 
me." 

The  mustache  of  Norcross  raised  just 
a  trifle,  and  his  eyes  glittered. 

"Passing  over  what  I  may  think  of 
your  revelations,"  he  said,  "you  're  a  re 
markable  woman." 

"If  you  're  coming  again,"  said  Mrs. 
164 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

Markham,  "perhaps  you  'd  better  not 
delve  into  my  personality.  It  interferes. 
Understand,  I  'm  really  flattered  to  have 
a  man  like  you  take  notice  of  this  work. 
That 's  why  I  ask  that  your  notice  sha  n't 
be  personal.  At  least  not  yet." 

"Since  this  is  a — a — professional  rela 
tion,  may  I  ask  how  much  I  owe  you?" 

"My  price  is  twenty-five  dollars  a 
sitting — for  those  who  can  afford  it." 

Norcross  drew  out  his  wallet,  handed 
Mrs.  Markham  three  bills.  Without 
looking  at  them,  she  dropped  them  on  the 
table  beside  her.  "You  see,"  she  went  on 
as  though  her  mind  were  still  following 
their  discussion,  "I  don't  like  to  talk 
much  with  my — patients.  I  never  can 
know  when  I  may  unconsciously  steal 
from  what  they  tell  me." 

At  the  entrance,  Norcross  hesitated,  as 
though  hoping  for  something  more  than 
a  good-night.  No  more  than  that  did 
she  give  him,  however.  He  himself  was 
obliged  to  introduce  the  subject  in  his 
mind. 

165 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"If  I  should  come  again,  would  Helen 
tell  me  more?" 

"Perhaps.  From  the  excellent  result 
to-night  I  should  call  it  likely." 

"Then  may  I  come  again?"  His  voice 
broke  once,  as  with  eagerness. 

"Certainly.  Will  you  make  an  ap 
pointment?" 

"Tuesday  night?" 

"I  had  an  engagement  for  Tuesday. 
Could  you  come  as  well  on  Friday?" 

And  though  it  meant  postponing  a  di 
rectors'  meeting,  he  answered  promptly: 

"Very  well.     Say  Friday  at  eight." 

And  now  he  was  in  his  automobile. 
He  settled  himself  against  the  cushions 
and  held  the  attitude,  without  motion. 
For  five  minutes  he  sat  so,  until  the 
chauffeur,  who  had  been  throwing  nervous 
backward  glances  through  the  limousine 
windows,  asked: 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  did  you  say 
'home'?" 

"Yes,  home,"  responded  Norcross. 
166 


THE  FISH  NIBBLES 

And  even  on  those  words,  his  voice  broke 
again. 

Mrs.  Markham  stood  beside  the  table, 
hardly  moving,  until  she  knew  by  whir 
and  horn  that  the  Norcross  automobile 
was  gone.  Then  she  sent  Ellen  to  bed, 
and  herself  moved  quickly  to  a  secretary 
in  the  little  alcove  library  back  of  the 
drawing-room.  Taking  a  key  from  her 
bosom,  she  unlocked  a  drawer  and  took 
out  a  packet  of  yellow  legal  cap  paper. 
Holding  this  document  concealed  in  a 
fold  of  her  waist,  she  passed  rapidly  to 
an  apartment  upstairs.  She  opened 
the  door  softly,  and  listened.  Nothing 
sounded  within  but  the  light,  even  breath 
ing  of  a  sleeper.  After  a  moment,  she 
crossed  the  room,  finding  her  way  ex 
pertly  in  the  darkness.  Well  within,  she 
knelt  and  began  some  operation  on  the 
floor. 

And  her  hand  made  a  slip.  A  crash 
echoed  through  the  house.  Following 
the  startled,  half -articulate  cry  of  a  sud- 
167 


den  awakening,  Mrs.  Markham,  still  find 
ing  her  way  with  marvelous  precision 
in  the  darkness,  passed  through  a  set  of 
portieres  and  crossed  to  the  bed. 

"Hush,  dear,"  she  said,  "I  only  came 
upstairs  to  borrow  a  handkerchief.  Go 
to  sleep.  I  'm  sure  it  won't  bother  your 
rest.  Don't  think  of  it  again." 


168 


IX 

ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

A  S  though  to  prove  her  maxim,  "Noth- 
**•  ing  turns  out  the  way  you  expect  it," 
Rosalie,  on  her  second  Tuesday  off,  failed 
to  meet  her  anxious  young  employer  in 
the  ladies'  parlor  of  the  Hotel  Greenwich. 
Instead  came  a  page,  calling  "Dr. 
Blake!"  It  was  a  note — "Stuyvesant 
Fish  Park  as  soon  as  you  get  this.  R. 
Le  G.,"  it  read.  Dr.  Blake  leaped  into 
a  taxicab  and  hurried  to  the  rendezvous. 
He  spied  her  on  a  park  bench,  watch 
ing  with  interest  the  maneuvers  of  the 
little  Russian  girls,  as  they  swarmed  over 
the  rocker  swings.  Even  before  he  came 
within  speaking  distance  of  her,  he  per 
ceived  that  something  must  have  hap 
pened — read  it  in  her  attitude,  her  manner 
of  one  who  lulls  a  suppressed  excitement. 
169 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

When  she  turned  to  answer  his  quick 
"Mme.  Le  Grange!"  her  cheeks  carried 
a  faint  color,  and  her  gray  eyes  were 
shining.  But  her  face  was  serious,  too; 
her  dimples,  barometer  of  her  gayer 
emotions,  never  once  rippled.  Before  he 
was  fairly  seated,  she  tumbled  out  the 
news  in  a  rush: 

"Well!  I  never  was  more  fooled  in 
my  life!" 

"She's  a  fraud!"  He  jumped  joy- 
ously  to  conclusions.  "You  can  prove 
it!" 

Rosalie  put  a  slender  finger  to  her  lips. 

"Not  so  loud.  Yids  have  ears.  I 
ain't  dead  sure  of  anything  now.  I  ain't 
even  sure  she  don't  have  me  followed 
when  I  leave  the  house.  That 's  why  I 
sent  for  you  to  change  meeting  places. 
There 's  nothing  as  safe  as  outdoors, 
because  you  can  watch  the  approaches." 

"But  is  she  a  fake  ?  Can  you  prove  it  ?" 
persisted  Dr.  Blake. 

"I  'm  a  woman,"  responded  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,   "not  a  newspaper  reporter.     I 
170 


ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

can't  tell  my  story  in  a  headline  before 
I  git  to  it.  I  've  got  to  go  my  own  gait 
or  I  can't  go  at  all.  Now  you  listen  and 
don't  interrupt,  or  I  '11  explode.  It  goes 
back,  anyhow,  into  our  last  talk. 

"I  was  comin'  downstairs  in  the  after 
noon  a  week  ago  Thursday,  and  I  saw 
Ellen  let  in  a  man.  Good-looking  man. 
Good  dresser.  Seemed  about  thirty-five 
till  you  looked  over  his  hands  and  the 
creases  around  his  eyes,  when  you  saw 
he  was  risin'  forty-five  if  a  day. 
Stranger,  I  guess,  for  Ellen  kept  him 
waiting  in  the  hall.  He  read  the  papers 
while  he  waited,  and  he  didn't  look  at 
nothing  but  the  financial  columns.  I 
took  it  from  that,  he  was  in  Wall  Street, 
though  you  can't  never  tell  in  New  York, 
where  they  all  play  the  market  or  the 
ponies.  I  did  n't  wait  to  size  him  up  real 
careful;  that  would  n't  do.  I  just  passed 
on  down  to  the  pantry  and  then  passed 
back  again.  He  was  still  there.  This 
time  he  had  put  up  his  newspapers,  and 
he  was  looking  over  some  pencil  notes  on 
171 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

that  yellow  legal  cap  paper.  He  did  n't 
hear  me  until  I  was  close  on  him,  the  rugs 
in  the  hall  are  that  big  and  soft.  But 
when  I  did  get  close,  he  jumped  like  I 
had  caught  him  in  something  crooked 
and  made  like  he  was  goin'  to  hide  the 
sheets.  Of  course,  I  did  n't  look  at  him, 
but  just  kept  right  on  upstairs.  When 
I  turned  into  the  second  floor,  I  heard 
Ellen  say,  'Mrs.  Markham  will  receive 
you/  I  didn't  pay  no  attention  to  that 
at  the  time.  It  was  only  one  of  twenty 
little  things  I  remembered.  Stayed  in  the 
back  of  my  head,  waitin'  to  tie  up  with 
something  else. 

"Come  Tuesday — week  ago  to-day  and 
my  afternoon  off.  I  was  comin'  home 
early,  about  nine  o'clock.  I  Ve  got  front 
door  privileges,  but  I  generally  use  the 
servants'  entrance  just  the  same.  Right 
ahead  of  me,  a  green  automobile  with 
one  of  those  limousine  bodies  drove  up 
to  the  front  door.  It 's  dark  down  in 
the  area  by  the  servants'  entrance.  I 
stopped  like  I  was  huntin'  through  my 
172 


ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

skirt  for  my  key,  and  looked.  Out  of 
the  automobile  come  a  man.  He  turned 
around  to  speak  to  the  chauffeur  and  I 
got  the  light  on  his  face.  Who  do  you 
suppose  it  was?  Robert  H.  Norcross!" 

"The  railroad  king?" 

Rosalie  pursed  her  lips  and  nodded 
wisely. 

"How  did  you  know?  You've  never 
seen  him  before." 

"Ain't  it  my  business  to  know  the  faces 
of  everybody?  What  do  I  read  the  per 
sonals  in  the  magazines  for?  You  'd 
know  Theodore  Roosevelt  if  you  saw  him 
first  time,  wouldn't  you?  But  I  made 
surer  than  that.  Next  day  I  matched 
the  number  of  his  automobile  with  the 
automobile  register.  That  number  be 
longs  to  Robert  H.  Norcross." 

Dr.  Blake  whistled. 

"Flaying  for  big  game!"  he  said. 

"That  was  what  struck  me,"  said  Ros 
alie,  "and  while  it  was  n't  impossible  that 
this  Mr.  Norcross  might  have  a  straight 
interest  in  the  spirit  world — well,  when 
173 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

you  see  big  medium  and  big  money  to 
gether,  it  looks  like  big  fake.  And 
there  was  the  man  with  the  notes  who  read 
the  financial  pages — he  jumped  back  into 
my  mind. 

"The  servants'  entrance  comes  out 
through  the  kitchen  onto  the  second  floor. 
When  I  come  into  the  hall,  Ellen  was 
waiting  for  me.  She  was  tiptoeing  and 
whispering. 

'  'Mrs.  Markham,'  she  says,  'wanted 
that  I  should  tell  you  she  has  sitters  un 
expected.  There 's  some  of  her  devil 
doin's  going  on  downstairs  to-night.  She 
wanted  me  to  catch  you  when  you  came 
in  and  ask  you  to  go  very  quiet  to  your 
room.' 

"While  I  went  upstairs,  I  listened  hard. 
Just  before  I  came  out  on  the  landing  of 
the  servants'  hall,  I  heard  a  bell  ring,  away 
down  below.  Just  a  little  ring — b-r-r. 
Now,  you  know  if  there 's  one  thing 
more  'n  another  that  I  've  got,  it 's  ears 
—and  ears  that  remember,  too.  I  had  n't 
been  a  day  in  that  house  when  I  knew 
174 


every  bell  in  it  and  who  was  ringin'  be 
sides.  This  was  n't  any  of  'em.  But 
that  wasn't  the  funny  thing.  It  lasted 
just  about  as  long  as  my  foot  rested  on 
a  step  of  the  stairs.  I  didn't  make  the 
break  of  going  back  and  ringin'  again; 
but  I  remembered  that  step — third  from 
the  top. 

"  'T  ain't  easy  to  admit  you  've  been 
fooled,  and  't  ain't  easy  to  give  up  some 
body  you  've  believed  in.  I  could  n't 
have  slept  that  night  even  if  I  'd  wanted. 
I  opened  the  registers  in  my  room,  be 
cause  open  registers  help  you  to  hear 
things,  and  sat  in  the  darkness.  I  could 
catch  that  the  sitting  was  over,  because 
the  front  door  slammed.  Then  Ellen 
came  upstairs,  and  the  bell  rang  b-r-r 
again.  I  could  hear  someone  come  up 
stairs  to  the  second  floor,  where  Mrs. 
Markham  and  the  girl  have  their  rooms. 
I  listened  for  that  bell  when  she  struck 
the  stairs.  I  couldn't  hear  nothing. 
The  current  has  been  switched  off,  thinks 
I.  Maybe  it  was  ten  minutes  later  when 
175 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

I  got  a  faint  kind  of  thud,  like  somebody 
had  let  down  a  folding  bed,  though  there 
ain't  a  one  of  those  man-killers  in  our 
house.  Sort  of  stirred  up  a  recollection, 
that  sound.  I  lay  puzzling,  and  the  an 
swer  came  like  a  flash.  Worst  fake  outfit 
I  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  was  Van- 
go's  Spirit  Thought  Institute  in  St.  Paul. 
I  Ve  told  you  before  how  ashamed  I  am 
of  that.  I  left  because  there 's  some 
kinds  of  work  I  won't  stand  for.  Well, 
he  used  a  ceiling  trap  for  his  material- 
izin' ;  though  the  wainscot  is  a  sight  better 
and  more  up-to-date  in  my  experience. 
When  he  let  it  drop  careless,  in  practic 
ing  before  the  seance,  it  used  to  make  a 
noise  like  that.  I  fell  asleep  by-and-bye; 
and  out  of  my  dreams,  which  was  troubled 
and  didn't  bring  nothing  definite,  I  got 
the  general  impression  that  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  was  n't  all  right  and  that  I  'd  been 
fooled. 

"Mrs.  Markham  and  the  little  girl  went 
to  the  matinee  next  afternoon.     Now  I  'm 
comin'  to  her.     You  let  me  tell  this  story 
176 


ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

my  way.  The  cook  was  bakin'  in  the 
kitchen,  Ellen  the  parlor  maid,  who  had 
to  stay  home  to  answer  bells,  was  gos- 
sipin'  with  her.  Martin  was  cleanin'  out 
the  furnace.  I  had  the  run  of  the  house. 
First  thing  I  looked  at  was  the  third  step 
from  the  top  of  the  stairs.  I  worked 
out  two  tacks  in  the  carpet — was  n't  much 
trouble ;  they  come  out  like  they  was  used 
to  it.  I  pulled  the  carpet  sideways. 
Sure  enough,  there  was  a  wide  crack  just 
below  the  step,  and  when  I  peeked  in,  I 
could  see  the  electric  connections.  Ques 
tion  was,  where  was  the  bell?  But  I  had 
something  to  think  of  first.  Where 
would  Mrs.  Markham  have  a  cabinet  if 
she  ever  done  materializin' ?  I  had 
thought  that  all  out — a  little  alcove  library 
in  the  rear  of  the  back  parlor.  Give  you 
plenty  of  room,  when  the  folding  doors 
were  open,  for  lights  and  effects.  If 
there  was  a  ceiling  trap,  it  must  be  in  the 
rooms  above.  I  went  into — into  the 
rooms" — here  Rosalie  paused  an  infin 
itesimal  second  as  though  making  a  men- 
177 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

tal  shift — "into  the  room  above.  Just 
over  the  alcove  library  is  a  small  sittin'- 
room.  The — a  bedroom  opens  off  it — 
but  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  It 's 
one  of  those  new-fangled  bare  floor  rooms. 
Right  over  the  cabinet  space  was  a  big 
rug.  I  pulled  it  aside  and  pried  around 
with  a  hair  pin  until  I  found  a  loose 
nail." 

Rosalie  paused  for  breath  before  she 
resumed : 

"I  went  over  the  house  again  to  be  sure 
I  was  alone,  before  I  pulled  out  the  nail. 
Well,  sir,  what  happened  like  to  knocked 
me  over.  The  minute  that  nail  come  out, 
a  trap  rose  right  up — on  springs.  I  just 
caught  it  in  time  to  stop  it  from  making 
a  racket.  I  was  looking  straight  down 
on  the  back  parlors.  It 's  one  of  those 
flossy,  ornamented  ceilings  down  there, 
and  a  panel  of  those  ceiling  ornaments 
came  up  with  the  bottom  of  the  trap. 
But  that  was  n't  the  funny  thing  about 
that  trap,  nice  piece  of  work  as  it  was. 
178 


ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

It 's  a  regular  cupboard.  Double,  you 
understand.  Space  in  between — and  all 
the  fixings  for  a  materializin'  seance,  the 
straight  fixings  that  the  dope  sees  and  the 
crooked  ones  that  only  the  medium  and 
the  spook  sees,  tucked  inside.  A  shutter 
lamp,  blue  glass — a  set  of  gauze  robes, 
phosphorescent  stars  and  crescents,  a  lit 
tle  rope  ladder  all  curled  up — and  whole 
books  of  notes.  Right  on  top  was" — she 
paused  impressively  to  get  suspense  for 
her  climax — "was  them  notes  on  yellow 
foolscap  that  I  seen  in  the  hands  of  the 
visitor  last  week.  And" — another  im 
pressive  pause — "they  're  the  dope  for 
Robert  H.  Norcross!" 

"The  what?" 

"The  full  information  on  him — dead 
sweetheart,  passed  out  thirty  years  ago 
up-state.  Fine  job  with  good  little  de 
tails — whoever  got  'em  must  'a'  talked 
with  somebody  that  was  right  close  to  her 
— an  old  aunt,  I  'm  thinking.  But  no 
medium  made  them  notes.  Looks  like  a 
179 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

private  detective's  work.  Not  a  bit  of 
professional  talk.  The  notes  on  Robert 
H.  Norcross.  See!" 

Dr.  Blake,  whose  face  had  lightened 
more  and  more  as  he  listened,  jumped 
up  and  grasped  Rosalie's  hand. 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you !"  he  cried.  "Did  n't 
I  tell  you!" 

But  she  failed  to  respond  to  his  enthu 
siasm.  She  turned  on  him  a  grave  face; 
and  her  eyes  shone. 

"What  I  'm  wondering,"  she  said,  "is 
who  plays  her  spook?  'Cause  if  she  has 
a  trap,  she  uses  confederates,  and  it  can't 
be  none  of  the  servants,  unless  I  'm  worse 
fooled  on  that  little  Ellen  than  ever  I  was 
on  Mrs.  Markham.  That 's  the  next 
thing  to  consider." 

"Does  look  curious,"  replied  Dr.  Blake, 
"but  of  course  you  can  be  trusted  to  dis 
cover  that!  But  about  Annette?" 

"Something 's  a  little  wrong  there," 
responded  Rosalie.  "Quiet,  and  dopey, 
and  strange.  That," — her  voice  fell  to 
180 


ROSALIE'S  SECOND  REPORT 

soft  contemplation, — "is  another  thing  to 
find  out." 

"We  must  get  her  out  of  there!"  he 
exploded;  "away  from  that  vampire!" 

"Well,  that 's  what  I  'm  takin*  your 
money  for,  ain't  it?"  responded  Rosalie. 

After  they  parted  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
stood  on  a  corner,  among  the  push-cart 
peddlers  and  the  bargaining  wives,  and 
watched  Dr.  Blake's  taxicab  disappear 
down  Stanton  Street. 

"Ain't  it  funny?"  she  said  half  aloud, 
"that  a  smart  young  man  like  him  never 
thought  to  ask  whose  room  it  was  I  found 
the  trap  in?" 


181 


X 

THE   STREAMS   CONVERGE 

"DULGER,  trailing  whiffs  of  out-door 
air,  had  dropped  into  the  Norcross 
offices  to  join  the  late  afternoon  drink. 
He  sat  now  sipping  his  highball,  tilted 
back  with  an  affectation  of  ease.  Nor- 
cross,  in  his  regular  place  at  the  glass- 
covered  desk,  laid  his  glass  down;  and  his 
gaze  wandered  again  to  the  spire  of  Old 
Trinity  and  then,  following  down,  to  the 
churchyard  at  its  foot.  Had  he  faced 
about  suddenly  at  that  moment,  he  would 
have  surprised  Bulger  in  a  strained  atti 
tude  of  attention.  But  he  did  not  turn; 
he  spoke  with  averted  glance. 

"You  never  asked  me,  Bulger,  how  I 
was  making  it  with  that  medium  woman." 

Bulger  took  a  deep  swallow  of  whiskey 
and  water  that  he  might  control  his  voice. 
182 


When,  finally,  he  spoke,  he  showed  a  fine 
assumption  of  indifference. 

"Well,  no.  Can't  say  I  'm  heavily  in 
terested.  When  I  found  for  you  the  best 
medium  that  money  could  buy,  I  decided 
that  my  job  was  done.  Of  course,"  he 
added,  "I  was  complimented  to  have  you 
tell  me — what  I  Ve  forgotten.  If  you 
want  to  consult  a  medium,  it 's  really  none 
of  my  business.  How  the  Lusitania  does 
loom  up  at  her  dock  out  there!" 

Norcross  let  his  eyes  wander  in  search 
of  the  Lusitania,  but  his  mind  refused  to 
stray  from  the  vital  subject. 

"You  Ve  no  business  to  be  indifferent, 
Bulger.  When  you  come  to  my  age,  you 
won't  be.  Martha  says  it 's  the  most  im 
portant  thing.  And  she  's  right — she  's 
right.  What 's  the  ten  or  twenty  years 
I  Ve  got  to  live  in  this  world,  compared 
with  all  that 's  waiting  us  out  there?  Of 
course,"  he  added,  "I  don't  know  much 
about  your  private  life;  I  don't  know  if 
you  have  another  part  of  you  waiting." 

"Who  's  Martha?"  enquired  Bulger. 
183 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"No  one  in  this  world,"  responded  Nor- 
cross.  "She  's  a  control  now — Mrs.  Mark- 
ham's  best  control."  Norcross  jumped 
up,  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  in  his 
hurried  little  walk.  Bulger  did  not  fail 
to  notice  that,  within  a  minute  or  two,  a 
heavy,  beady  perspiration  came  out  on 
his  face  and  forehead.  The  room  was 
cool;  the  railroad  king  was  old  and  spare. 
Nothing  save  some  struggle  of  the  inner 
consciousness  could  produce  that  effect  of 
mighty  labor. 

"Bulger,"  said  Norcross,  speaking  in 
quick,  staccato  jerks,  "if  I  told  you  what 
I  'd  seen  and  heard  in  the  last  fortnight, 
I  could  n't  make  you  believe  it.  Proofs ! 
Proofs !  I  've  wasted  thirty  years.  I 
might  have  had  her — the  best  part  of  her 
—all  this  time.  You  think  I  'm  crazy- 
he  stopped  and  peered  into  Bulger's  face. 
"If  anyone  had  talked  this  way  to  me 
six  months  ago,  I'd  have  thought  so  my 
self.  Do  you  or  don't  you?"  he  exploded. 

"About  as  crazy  as  you  ever  were," 
responded  Bulger.     "Not  to  sugar  coat 
184 


THE  STREAMS  CONVERGE 

the  pill,  people  have  always  said  you  were 
crazy — just  before  you  let  off  your  fire 
works.  You  Ve  got  there  because  you 
dared  do  things  that  only  a  candidate  for 
Bloomingdale  would  attempt.  But  you 
always  landed,  and  we  Ve  another  name 
for  it  now." 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Norcross. 
"That 's  exactly  it.  I  dare  to  say  now  that 
the  dead  do  return !  People  have  believed 
in  ghosts  as  long  as  they  Ve  believed  in 
a  Divine  Providence — just  as  many  cen 
turies  and  ages — every  race,  every  nation. 
We  hear  in  this  generation  that  certain 
people  have  proved  it — found  the  way- 
set  up  the  wires — and  we  laugh,  and  call 
it  all  fraud.  I  don't  laugh !  Why,  we  're 
on  the  verge  of  things  which  make  the 
railroad  and  the  steamboat  and  the  tele 
graph  seem  like  toys — if  we  only  dared. 
I  dare — I  dare!"  He  went  on  pacing  the 
floor;  and  now  the  beads  had  assembled 
into  rivers,  so  that  a  tiny  stream  trickled 
down  and  fogged  his  reading-glasses. 
He  jerked  them  off,  wiped  them,  wiped 
185 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

his  face  and  forehead.  The  action 
calmed  him,  brought  him  back  to  his  rea 
sonable  grip  on  himself.  At  the  end  of 
his  route  across  the  room,  he  sat  down 
abruptly. 

Bulger  did  not  miss  this  shift  of  the 
new  Norcross  back  toward  the  old,  iron, 
inscrutable  Norcross  whom  the  world 
knew.  The  next  remark  he  directed 
against  that  aspect  of  his  man. 

"It 's  all  right,"  said  Bulger,  "if  you 
want  to  follow  that  line."  During  the 
short  pause  which  ensued,  he  thought  and 
felt  intensely.  Working  under  the  direc 
tion  of  a  mind  infinitely  his  superior  for 
intrigue  and  subtlety,  he  had  instruction 
to  play  gently  upon  the  Norcross  con 
trariety,  the  Norcross  habit  of  rejecting 
advice.  This,  if  ever,  seemed  the  time. 
With  a  bold  hand,  he  laid  his  counter 
upon  the  board.  "Just  one  thing  to  be 
careful  about — of  course,  it 's  a  mouse 
trying  to  steer  a  lion  for  me  to  advise  you 
—but  watch  those  people,  when  they  get 
186 


THE  STREAMS  CONVERGE 

on  the  subject  of  business.     Sometimes 
they  work  people,  you  know." 

Norcross's  face,  fixed  on  the  third 
monument  from  the  south  door  of  Old 
Trinity,  permitted  itself  the  luxury  of 
a  slight  smile. 

"I  'm  safe  there,"  he  responded. 
"Don't  think  I  haven't  tried  her  out — 
put  tests  of  my  own.  I  know  what 
you  're  thinking  about — Marsh  and  Diss 
Debar.  I  tried  at  my  very  first  seance 
to  make  her  talk  business  and  I  Ve  tried 
it  twice  since.  I  could  n't  get  a  single 
rise  out  of  that.  This  medium  receives 
from  me  her  regular  rate,  and  no  more. 
I  established  that  in  the  beginning. 
Though  I  suppose  the  guides  could  ad 
vise  on  business  as  well  as  on  anything 
else.  But  they  think  about  other  things 
on  the  other  side  than  this" — his  hand 
swept  over  Lower  Manhattan — "this 
money  grubbing." 

Bulger  leaned  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

"It  sounds  wonderful,"  he  said. 
187 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Not  more  wonderful  than  wireless 
telegraphy,"  answered  Norcross.  "And 
the  ancients,  she  says,  dreamed  of  talk 
ing  with  spirits  long  before  they  dreamed 
of  talking  to  each  other  across  an  ocean. 
We  only  need  an  exceptional  force  to 
do  it.  And  Mrs.  Markham  is  that  force. 
You  know  the  locket  I  showed  you?" 

"I  promised  to  forget  it." 

"Well,  remember  for  a  minute.     I" 
his  voice  exploded — "I  may  see  her,  Bul 
ger — before  the  month  is  over,  I  may  see 
her!" 

Bulger  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  with 
an  affectation  of  surprise. 

It  was  as  though  the  sudden  motion, 
the  exclamation  had  touched  a  spring  in 
the  mind  of  Norcross,  had  projected  his 
spirit  from  that  disintegrating,  anaemic 
cell  in  his  brain  to  the  sound,  full-blooded 
cells  by  which  he  did  his  daily  business. 
His  form,  which  had  seemed  relaxed  and 
old,  stiffened  visibly.  He  turned  his  eyes 
on  Bulger. 

188 


THE  STREAMS  CONVERGE 

''Forget  that,  too,"  he  said.  "Some 
day,  when  I  'm  strong  enough,  you  '11  go 
with  me  and  you  '11  believe  too."  And 
now  the  secretary  had  signalled  the 
chauffeur,  and  Norcross  had  risen  to  go. 

The  streams  of  destiny  were  converg 
ing  that  afternoon;  the  lines  were  draw 
ing  close  together.  Among  the  towers 
of  Lower  Manhattan,  Norcross  sat  baring 
his  soul ;  on  a  bench  in  Stuyvesant  Square, 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  had  reported  the  con 
summation  of  her  investigations  to  Dr. 
Walter  Huntington  Blake;  in  a  back 
parlor  of  the  Upper  West  Side,  Paula 
Markham,  with  many  a  sidelong  glance 
at  the  approaches,  sat  memorizing  the 
last  syllable  of  a  set  of  notes  on  yellow 
legal  cap  paper.  But  the  master  current 
was  flowing  elsewhere.  In  the  offices  of 
the  Evening  Sun,  the  stereotypers  had 
just  shot  the  front  page  of  the  Wall 
Street  edition  down  to  the  clanking  base 
ment.  It  carried  a  "beat";  and  that  item 
of  news  had  as  much  to  do  with  this  story 
189 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

as  with  the  ultimate  destinies  of  the  L.  D. 
and  M.  railroad.  On  October  19,  two 
weeks  hence,  the  directors  of  the  road 
were  to  meet  and  decide  whether  to  pay 
or  pass  the  dividend.  "The  directors" — 
that,  as  the  Sun  insinuated,  meant  none 
other  than  Norcross.  Holding  a  major 
ity  of  the  L.  D.  and  M.  stock,  holding 
the  will  of  those  directors,  his  creatures, 
he  alone  would  decide  whether  to  declare 
the  dividend  or  to  pass  it.  The  stock 
wavered  at  about  fifty,  waiting  the  de 
cision.  If  Norcross  put  it  on  a  dividend- 
paying  basis,  it  was  good  for  eighty.  To 
know  which  way  he  would  decide,  to  ex 
tract  any  information  from  that  inscru 
table  mind — that  were  to  open  a  steel 
vault  with  a  pen-knife.  "All  trading," 
the  Sun  assured  its  readers,  "will  be  spec 
ulative;  it  is  considered  a  pure  gamble." 

As  Bulger  parted  with  Norcross  on  the 

street  and  turned  south,  a  newsboy  thrust 

the  Wall  Street  Sun  into  his  face.     The 

announcement  of  the  L.  D.  and  M.  situa- 

190 


THE  STREAMS  CONVERGE 

tion  jumped  out  at  him  from  a  headline. 
The  inside  information,  held  for  two 
weeks  by  the  group  of  speculators  in 
which  Bulger  moved,  was  out ;  the  public 
was  admitted  to  the  transaction;  now  was 
the  time,  if  ever,  to  strike.  He  found 
a  sound-proof  telephone,  and  did  a  few 
minutes  of  rapid  talking.  Then  he  pro 
ceeded  to  his  office. 

The  force  was  gone.  Alone  at  his  desk, 
he  went  over  the  papers  in  a  complicated 
calculation  which  he  had  made  twenty 
times  before.  By  all  devices,  Watson 
could  hold  back  the  collapse  of  the  Mon 
golia  Mine  until  after  October  19.  By 
straining  his  credit  to  the  utmost — liqui 
dating  everything — he  himself  could  raise 
a  trifle  more  than  seventy  thousand  dol 
lars.  He  hesitated  no  longer.  Method 
ically,  he  apportioned  out  the  seventy 
thousand  dollars  among  a  dozen  brokers, 
who  to-morrow  should  buy  for  him,  on  a 
ten  point  margin,  L.  D.  and  M.  stock  at 
fifty  to  fifty -three. 

This  done,  Bulger  locked  up  the  papers 
191 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

again,  telephoned  for  a  cab,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  his  club,  where  he  dined  with  his 
customary  hilarity  and  good  humor. 


192 


XI 

THROUGH   THE   WALL-PAPER 


to  do  it!"  said  Rosalie 
Le  Grange;  "no  half-way  business. 
I  could  show  better  reasons  than  I  'm 
tellinV 

Blake  paused  in  his  slow  walk  beside 
her. 

"What  reasons?"  he  asked. 

"Now  listen  to  the  man!"  exclaimed 
Rosalie.  "And  ain  't  it  man  for  you  ! 
Right  off,  first  meeting,  I  told  you 
enough  to  put  me  in  jail  and  now  you 
won't  trust  me!" 

Blake  seemed  to  see  the  logic  of  what 
she  said. 

"I  have  cause  to  trust  you,"  he  said, 
"and  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I  am 
afraid  of  the  personal  danger.  It  's  just 
13  193 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

that  you  're  asking  me  to  do  something 
which — will,  which  people  like  me  don't 
do." 

"So  anxious  to  be  a  gentleman  that  you 
forgit  to  be  a  man!"  remarked  Rosalie 
with  asperity.  "Now  you  listen  to  me. 
I  've  told  you  that  she  's  held  two  material 
izing  seances  for  Robert  H.  Norcross, 
have  n't  I  ?  I  Ve  told  you  it  is  crooked 
materialization — even  if  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  real  cabinet  spooks,  which  there 
ain't — because  I  found  the  ceiling  trap 
an'  the  apparatus  long  ago.  And  if  Mrs. 
Markham  is  playin'  fake  materializing 
with  old  Norcross  as  a  dope,  what  does 
it  come  to?  Obtainin'  money,  an'  big 
money,  under  false  pretenses !  That 's 
enough  to  put  her  behind  the  bars.  So 
what  risk  do  you  take  even  if  you  are 
caught?  She  '11  be  more  anxious  than 
you  to  keep  it  away  from  the  papers  and 
the  police.  And  Norcross !  He  '11  break 
his  collar-bone  to  shut  it  up!" 

Half  persuaded,  he  clutched  at  his 
sense  of  honor. 

194 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

"But  it 's  a  sneaking  trick — Annette 
would  call  it  that." 

"Yes,  an'  ain't  it  a  sneakin'  trick  to 
hire  a  housekeeper  to  be  a  spy?"  Rosalie 
hurled  back.  "Seems  to  me  you  draw  a 
fine  line  between  doin'  your  own  dirty 
work  an'  havin'  it  done!" 

At  this  plain  statement  of  the  case, 
Blake  smiled  for  the  first  time  that  morn 
ing. 

"I  suppose  you  're  right,"  he  said.  "A 
good  officer  never  sends  a  man  where  he 
would  n't  go  himself.  I  'm  rather  sorry 
I  started  now." 

The  dominant  thought  in  all  the  com 
plex  machinery  of  Rosalie's  mind  was: 
"And  you  '11  be  sorrier  before  this  night 's 
over,  boy."  But  her  voice  said: 

"I  knew  you  'd  see  it  that  way.  Now 
listen  and  git  this  carefully :  You  're  to 
wear  a  big  ulster  and  old  hat  and  soft- 
soled  shoes — don  't  forget  that.  You  're 
to  come  to  the  back  door  at  a  quarter  to 
nine — exactly.  Us  servants  receive  our 
callers  at  the  back  door.  Norcross  will  be 
195 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

in  the  parlor  at  half  past,  Annette  will  be 
in  her  room,  the  other  help  will  be  out, 
Ellen  and  all.  Mrs.  Markham  takes  no 
chances — not  even  with  that  fool  girl- 
when  she  's  got  Norcross.  She  's  given 
Ellen  theater  tickets.  That 's  how  care 
ful  she  is  about  little  things.  You  can 
see  how  clear  the  coast  will  be.  I  'm 
goin'  to  bring  you  straight  to  my  room 
like  a  visitor.  You  walk  soft!" 

"But  how  about  that  electric  bell?"  he 
asked. 

"I  disconnected  it  this  morning  at  the 
trap  with  my  manicure  scissors  an'  a  hair 
pin,"  replied  Rosalie,  triumphantly. 

So,  at  sixteen  minutes  to  nine,  Dr. 
Blake,  feeling  a  cross  between  a  detective 
and  a  burglar,  stole  through  the  alley 
which  backed  the  Markham  residence, 
crossed  the  area,  knocked  softly  at  the 
kitchen  door.  It  opened  cautiously  and 
then  suddenly  to  show  the  kitchen,  lighted 
with  one  dim  lamp,  and  the  ample  form 
of  Rosalie.  With  a  finger  on  her  lips, 
she  closed  the  door  behind  him.  His 
196 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

heart  beat  fast,  less  with  a  sense  of  im 
pending  adventure  than  with  the  thought, 
which  struck  him  as  he  mounted  the  serv 
ants'  staircase,  that  he  was  divided  but 
by  thin  walls  from  the  object  of  all  these 
strivings  and  diplomacies — that  for  the 
second  time  in  his  life  he  was  under  her 
home  roof  with  Annette.  It  was  a  firm, 
old  house.  Their  footsteps  made  not  the 
slightest  creak  on  the  thick-carpeted 
stairs.  At  the  door  of  her  room,  Rosalie 
stopped  and  put  her  mouth  to  his  ear. 

"Step  careful  inside,"  she  said,  "my 
floor  is  bare."  He  stood  now  in  the  neat, 
low-ceiled  housekeeper's  parlor.  Rosalie 
turned  up  the  gas,  and  indicated  by  a  ges 
ture  that  he  was  to  stand  still.  Elab 
orately,  she  closed  the  registers,  plugged 
the  keyhole  with  her  key,  and  set  two 
chairs  beside  him. 

"Now  sit  down,"  she  whispered. 
"They  can't  hear  us  talkin',  though  we  'd 
better  whisper  for  safety,  but  two  sets  of 
footsteps  might  sound  suspicious.  The 
halls  are  carpeted  like  a  padded  cell, 
197 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

which  ought  to  have  put  me  wise  in  the  be 
ginning." 

"Are  you  sure  Annette 's  abed?"  he 
asked  anxiously. 

Rosalie  threw  him  a  swift  glance,  as  of 
suspicion. 

"Sure,"  she  said — "saw  her  go.  Now 
before  I  let  you  out,  I  want  to  git  one 
promise  from  you.  Whatever  happens, 
you  leave  this  house  quiet, — as  quiet  as 
you  can.  You  've  got  me  to  guard  in 
this  as  well  as  yourself — you  can  't  leave 
me  alone  with  trouble." 

"I'll  promise  that,"  he  said.  "Won't 
you  tell  me  what  I  'm  going  to  see?" 

Rosalie,  under  pretense  of  consulting 
her  watch,  looked  away. 

"You  '11  know  in  ten  minutes,"  she  said. 
"Now  don't  bother  me  with  any  questions. 
I  Ve  got  directions  for  you.  You  're 
coming  with  me  to  the  floor  below.  I  '11 
let  you  into  a  hall  closet.  It  was  built 
into  a — into  a  room,  and  the  back  of  it  is 
only  wood.  There  's  an  old  gas  connec- 
198 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

tion,  which  they  papered  over,  through 
that  wood.  Yesterday  I  punched  through 
the  paper  and  hung  a  picture  over  the 
hole.  This  afternoon,  I  took  that  picture 
down.  To-morrow  morning,  the  picture 
goes  back.  But  now,  there  's  a  peephole 
into  the  room." 
"Dr.  Blake  bristled. 

"Peep  through  a  hole!"  he  said. 

"Now  ain't  that  just  like  a  fashionable 
bringin  -up,"  said  Rosalie,  almost  raising 
her  voice.  "Things  a  gentleman  can  do 
an'  things  he  can't  do  I  You  're  tryin'  to 
bust  a  crook,  an'  you  remember  what  your 
French  nurse  told  you  about  the  etiquette 
of  keyholes!" 

"You  're  my  master  at  argument,  Mme. 
Le  Grange,"  responded  Blake.  "Go 
ahead." 

"And  you  promise  to  leave  quiet?" 

"I  promise." 

"There  's  one  place  I  can  trust  your 
bringin'-up,  I  guess.     When  you  're  in 
side,  feel  about  till  you  find  a  hassock. 
199 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

Stand  on  it ;  't  will  bring  your  eyes  up  to 
the  hole.  Stay  there  until  I  knock  for 
you  to  come  out — let 's  be  goin'." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do — why  am  I  here 
if  I  am  to  do  nothing?" 

"You  're  to  look  an'  see  an'  remember 
what  you  see — that 's  all  for  to-night." 

At  the  door,  she  looked  him  full  '  *  the 
eyes  again: 

"Remember,  you  Ve  promised." 

"I  remember." 

The  dim  light  of  a  low  gas  jet  illumi 
nated  the  upper  hall.  From  below  came 
the  faintest  murmur  of  voices.  Rosalie 
led  to  the  hall  of  the  second  floor,  turned 
toward  the  back  of  the  house,  opened  a 
door  and  motioned.  He  stepped  inside; 
the  door  closed  without  noise.  He  was 
in  black  darkness. 

His  foot  found  the  hassock ;  he  mounted 
it  and  adjusted  his  eye.  He  was  looking 
into  some  kind  of  a  living-room  or 
boudoir.  On  the  extreme  left  of  his 
range  of  vision  he  could  see  a  set  of  dark 
portieres;  directly  before  him  was  a  fool- 
200 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

ish  little  white  desk,  over  which  burned  a 
gas  jet,  turned  low.  That,  apparently, 
was  the  only  illumination  in  the  room. 
For  the  rest,  he  could  only  see  a  wall  dec 
orated  with  the  tiny  frivolities  of  a 
boudoir,  two  chairs,  a  sewing  table.  He 
watched  until — his  eyes,  grown  accus 
tomed  to  the,  dim  light — he  discerned 
every  detail.  From  far  below,  he  heard 
the  subdued  hum  of  a  conversation,  and 
made  out  at  length,  in  the  rise  and  fall  of 
voices,  that  a  man  and  a  woman  were 
speaking.  Then  even  that  sound  ceased; 
over  the  house  lay  a  stillness  so  heavy  that 
he  feared  his  own  breathing. 

Gradually,  he  was  aware  that  someone 
was  playing  a  piano.  It  began  so  gently 
that  he  doubted,  at  first,  whether  it  was 
not  a  far  echo  from  one  of  the  houses  to 
right  or  left.  But  it  increased  in  volume 
until  he  located  it  definitely  in  the  rooms 
below.  The  air,  unrecognized  at  first, 
called  up  a  memory  of  old-fashioned  par 
lors  and  of  his  grandmother.  He  found 
himself  struggling  for  words  to  fit  the 
201 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

tune;  and  suddenly  they  sprang  into  his 
mind — "Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid, 
bright  Alfaretta."  Thrice  over  the  un 
seen  musician  played  the  air,  and  let  it  die 
with  a  last,  lingering  chord. 

Suddenly  his  heart  gave  a  great  leap. 
For  the  first  time,  something  was  happen 
ing  in  the  room  before  him.  It  came  first 
as  a  slight,  padded  thump,  like  bare  feet 
striking  the  floor.  He  saw  that  the  por 
tieres  to  left  of  his  range  of  vision  were 
undulating.  They  parted — and  a  pillar 
of  white  stood  for  a  moment  before  them. 
The  thing  resolved  itself  into  a  human 
figure,  swathed,  draped  in  white,  the  face 
concealed  by  a  white  veil  which  fell 
straight  from  the  head.  Now  the  white 
figure,  with  a  noiseless,  gliding  motion, 
was  crossing  the  room  toward  the  white 
desk.  It  stopped,  lifted  a  hand  which 
crept  toward  the  gaslight.  With  this 
motion,  the  veil  fell  away  from  the  face. 
The  gaslight  shone  upon  it;  he  could  see 
it  in  full  profile. 

It  was  Annette. 

202 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

In  the  space  of  his  long  gasp,  her  hand 
touched  the  gas  jet.  It  went  out;  the 
room  faded  into  absolute  darkness. 

And  the  vision  which  stood  out  from 
the  black  background  made  him  sway  and 
clutch  at  the  garments  in  the  closet.  For 
her  robes  radiated  dull  light,  like  a  coal 
seen  behind  ashes.  It  was  as  though  she 
were  about  to  burst  into  flame.  On  her 
head  gleamed  a  dull  star;  from  it,  the 
radiance  of  her  robe  fell  away  toward  her 
feet  in  lesser  light,  like  the  tail-streamer 
of  a  comet.  All  emotion  of  despair,  dis 
illusion,  rage,  were  expressed  for  a 
moment  within  him  by  an  emotion  of 
supernatural  awe  which  sent  the  tremors 
running  from  his  face  to  his  spine,  and 
his  spine  to  his  feet.  She  stood  a  perfect 
phantom  of  the  night,  like  Annette  called 
back  from  the  dead. 

The  pillar  of  dull  light  was  moving 
now.  She  had  stooped;  he  heard  a  faint 
creak,  he  imagined  that  he  felt  new  air. 
Suddenly,  too,  a  voice  which  had  been 
droning  far  away  became  audible.  And 
203 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

now  the  pillar  of  light  was  sinking,  sink 
ing  through  the  floor.  The  feet  were 
gone,  the  torso ;  the  star  of  light  was  level 
with  the  floor,  was  gone.  He  was  look 
ing  into  darkness. 

Mrs.  Markham's  controlled,  vibrant 
voice  rose  clearly  from  below — he  caught 
every  word : 

"Come,  Helen;  be  strong.  He  loves 
you.  His  love  calls  you!" 

Silence  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute ;  then 
a  swish  as  of  garments  agitated  by  some 
swift  motion;  then  Annette's  well-remem 
bered  contralto  voice  of  a  boy — Annette's 
voice,  which  had  spoken  such  things  to 
him— 

"Robert,  dearest,  I  have  come  again. 
Robert,  I  keep  for  you  out  here  the  little 
ring.  Robert,  we  will  be  happy!'3 

And  the  voice  of  a  man,  sobbing  and 
breaking  between  the  exclamatives : 

"My  little  Lallie — Dear  Helen — how 
long  I  *ve  waited — sweetheart — how  many 
years!" 

And  the  voice  of  Annette. 
204 


THROUGH  THE  WALL-PAPER 

'"Only  a  few  more  years  to  wait,  dear 
est — and  now  that  you  have  faith,  I  can 
come  to  you  sometimes — but,  oh,  dearest, 
I  foresee  a  danger — a  great  danger!" 

Ten  minutes  later,  Rosalie  tiptoed  from 
the  library  from  which  she  had  observed 
the  seance  to  the  last  detail  of  method, 
and  made  her  way  to  the  closet  wherein 
she  had  shut  Dr.  Blake.  She  opened  the 
door  with  all  precaution,  fumbled,  found 
nothing,  whispered.  No  one  answered. 
At  last  she  stepped  within,  plugged  the 
keyhole  with  her  key,  and  lit  a  match. 

The  closet  was  empty. 

Rosalie  crept  upstairs  to  her  own  room. 
When  she  lit  the  gas,  she  was  crying  softly 
and — as  of  old  habit  under  emotional 
stress — talking  to  herself  under  her 
breath. 

"I  had  to  do  it,"  she  whispered. 
"He'd  believe  nothin'  but  his  eyes!" 

She  sat  down  then,  and  surveyed  her 
belongings.  "The  job 's  over.  What 
whelps  it  makes  people — just  to  touch  this 
business !" 

205 


XII 

ANNETTE  LIES 

"DLAKE  rose  from  a  night  of  pro- 
tracted,  dull  suffering;  of  quick 
rages;  of  hideous,  unrelieved  despairs. 
When  the  day  came  and  the  city  roared 
about  him  again,  the  habits  of  life  reas 
serted  themselves.  He  rose,  dressed,  sent 
for  coffee,  gained  the  pathetic  victory  of 
swallowing  it.  His  face,  seared  by  all  the 
inner  fires  of  that  night,  settled  now  to  a 
look  of  steel  resolution.  He  rose  from 
his  coffee,  opened  his  desk  and  wrote  this 
note: 

MY  DEAR  MME.  LE  GRANGE  : 

I  understand  perfectly  your  motive  in  asking 

me  to  invade  a  private  house  and  peep  through 

a  keyhole.     It  was  the  only  thing  which  would 

have  disillusioned  me.     Had  you  told  me  this, 

206 


ANNETTE  LIES 

I  would  not  have  believed  you.  Though  it  was 
harsh  treatment,  I  thank  you.  I  enclose  a  check 
for  a  hundred  dollars,  payment  two  weeks  in 
advance  for  your  services,  which  I  shall  need  no 
longer.  You  did  your  job  well.  You  will  un 
derstand,  I  think,  that  I  do  not  reflect  on  you 
when  I  ask  you  never  to  see  me  again.  You 
would  recall  something  which  I  shall  try  for  the 
rest  of  my  life  to  forget. 

WALTER  H.  BLAKE. 

P.  S.  Do  as  you  please  about  this — but  I 
should  prefer  you  to  give  Mrs.  Markham  the 
customary  notice. 

As  he  sealed  the  letter  and  put  on  his 
hat  that  he  might  go  to  post  it  with  his 
own  hands,  he  had  the  look  of  a  man  who 
has  settled  everything  and  for  life.  But 
the  clanging  lid  of  the  letter  box  had  no 
sooner  closed  than  the  look  of  resolution 
began  to  leave  his  face.  For  two  hours, 
he  paced  the  streets  of  Manhattan.  He 
found  himself  at  length  apostrophizing  a 
brick  wall,  "Who  could  believe  it?"  And 
again,  to  a  lamp-post,  "I  can't  believe  it!" 
And  again,  "She  made  her!"  He  wheeled 
207 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

on  this,  turned  into  a  drug  store,  shut 
himself  into  the  telephone  booth,  and 
called  up  the  Markham  house. 

After  an  eternal  minute,  he  was  an 
swered  in  Annette's  own  deep,  thrilling 
contralto : 

"Hello!" 

He  paused,  controlled  his  voice,  and 
plunged  in : 

"Miss  Markham,  this  is  Dr.  Blake. 
Please  don't  go  away  from  the  telephone. 
You  owe  it  to  me  to  listen — " 

"I  shall  listen—" 

"Very  well.  You  will  remember  that 
I  have  respected  your  wishes  about  keep 
ing  away  from  you.  I  do  not  want  to 
make  you  any  trouble.  But  something 
has  happened  in  which  you  are  concerned, 
and  which  makes  it  imperative  that  I 
should  speak  to  you  face  to  face  for  five 
minutes— 

"Something  important?"  he  heard  her 

voice  tremble.     He  remembered  then  that 

cheated  and  humiliated  lovers  had  been 

known  to  shoot  women;  he  had  raised  his 

208 


ANNETTE  LIES 

voice;  perhaps,  what  with  her  bad  con 
science,  she  was  thinking  of  that. 

"Understand  me,"  he  added,  speaking 
lower.  "I  shall  be  kind.  I  shall  do  noth 
ing  violent  nor  disagreeable.  I  want  five 
minutes,  at  your  house,  in  the  Park — any 
where.  Though  I  would  prefer  to  see 
you  alone,  I  would  consent  to  the  presence 
of  your  aunt.  But  you  must  see  me!" 

"I  must  see  you,"  she  repeated — 
musingly  he  thought — "Aunt  Paula  is 
away." 

"Could  you  come  at  once  to  that  Eighty- 
sixth  Street  entrance  of  the  Park?" 

A  pause,  and— 

"I  will  come,"  she  said. 

"Good-by — at  once,"  he  answered,  and 
hung  up  the  receiver,  without  further 
word.  Outside,  he  hurled  himself  into  a 
taxicab.  Spurred  on  by  an  offer  of  an 
extra  dollar  for  speed,  the  chauffeur  raced 
north. 

Annette  was  sitting  on  a  bench  by  the 
Park  gate.  Not  until  he  had  paid  and  dis 
missed  the  chauffeur  did  she  look  up. 
14  209 


She  wore  a  smile,  which  faded  as  she 
caught  his  expression.  With  its  fading 
came  the  old,  worn  look;  he  had  never, 
even  at  that  first  meeting  on  the  train, 
seen  it  more  pronounced.  A  flood  of  per 
verse  tenderness  came  over  him;  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  steel  his  heart.  And 
so,  it  was  Annette  who  spoke  first: 

"What  is  the  matter — oh,  what  has  hap 
pened?" 

He  stood  towering  over  her. 

"Miss  Markham,  I  came  to  ask  a  simple 
question.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  tell  me  the 
truth.  What  did  you  do  last  night?" 

"What  did  I  do  last  night?"  she  re 
peated.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Answer,  please.  Where  were  you 
last  night — what  did  you  do?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?" 

"It  will  be  better,  I  assure  you,"  he  re 
plied,  "if  you  do  not  act  with  me." 

"You  have  never  seemed  harsh  be 
fore—" 

"Will  you  answer  me?" 
210 


ANNETTE  LIES 

A  blush  ran  over  her  exquisite  white 
ness. 

"I  have  to  remember,"  she  said,  "that 
perhaps  I  once  gave  you  the  right  to  ask 
such  things  of  me.  Last  night  I  went  to 
bed  just  after  dinner." 

"Exactly  when?" 

"A  little  after  eight.  I  have  been  tired 
lately.  Aunt  Paula  saw  that  I  went  to 
sleep." 

"Is  that  all?"  sharply. 

"Why,  yes.  I  slept  heavily.  The  old 
sleep.  The  one  which  leaves  me  tired." 

"You  did  not  get  up?" 

"I  am  beginning  to  question  your  right 
to—" 

"But  answer  me — Did  you  wake?" 

"No.  I  slept  until  seven  this  morning. 
Walter,  Walter—  "  she  had  never  used  his 
Christian  name  before,  and  at  the  moment 
it  struck  him  only  as  one  of  her  Circe  arts 
-"you  are  cruel!  What  do  you  mean 
by  this?  Why  do  you  trouble  me  so?" 

Now  that  she  had  lied  in  his  face,  he  felt 
211 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

the  blood  surging  scarlet  behind  his  eyes. 
It  came  to  him  that,  if  he  remained  a  mo 
ment  longer,  he  should  lose  all  control. 
Without  another  word,  without  a  back 
ward  look,  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

"Walter!"  she  called  after  him,  and 
again,  "Walter!  Don't  go!" 

But  he  was  running  top  speed  down  the 
footpath. 

When  he  stopped,  from  growing  weari 
ness  of  soul  as  much  as  from  physical  ex 
haustion,  he  was  on  a  cross  street  leading 
into  Sixth  Avenue.  The  tinsel  front  of 
a  saloon  rose  before  him.  He  tore 
through  the  swinging  doors,  ordered  a 
drink  of  whiskey  and  then  another.  It 
might  have  been  so  much  water,  for  all  it 
either  fed  or  quenched  the  fire  within  him. 
With  some  instinct  to  go  back  to  his  own 
private  hole  of  misery,  he  took  a  street  car. 
But  he  found  it  impossible  to  sit  still.  He 
got  down  after  three  blocks,  found  an 
other  saloon,  took  another  drink.  This, 
too,  evaporated  in  the  feverish  heat  en 
gendered  by  his  sleepless  night.  But  it 
212 


ANNETTE  LIES 

did  afford  an  idea,  a  plan.  He  would  get 
drunk — for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  get 
blind,  staggering  drunk.  When  he  re 
covered  from  that,  time  would  have 
dimmed  the  misery  a  little;  he  would  be 
able  to  endure.  Just  now,  he  must  get 
drunk  or  die. 

Alone  and  in  broad  daylight,  he  tried 
it.  From  the  corner  saloons  of  the  Up 
per  West  Side  to  the  dives  of  the  Bowery, 
he  poured  in  whiskey  and  yet  more 
whiskey.  Nothing  happened;  positively 
nothing.  The  fire  within  burned  as 
fiercely  as  ever,  the  misery  beat  as  keenly 
against  his  temples.  He  tried  his  voice; 
he  was  speaking  clearly.  Once  he  ran 
down  the  open  asphalt  of  a  water-front 
street;  all  his  muscular  control  remained. 
The  most  that  liquor  did  was  to  spread  a 
slight  fog  over  his  senses,  so  that  he 
seemed  to  be  seeing  through  a  veil,  hear 
ing  through  a  partition. 

On  the  approach  of  night,  the  effect 
struck  him  all  at  once.  It  came  in  a  wave 
of  drowsiness,  a  delicious  sense  that  his 
213 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

trouble,  still  there,  weighed  lightly  upon 
him — did  not  matter.  He  was  sitting  in 
Madison  Square  when  he  realized  this  ef 
fect.  He  could  sleep  now.  Thank  God 
for  that!  He  turned  toward  the  club, 
walking  on  the  rosy  airs  of  reaction. 

As  he  approached  the  club  door,  he  was 
aware  that  a  woman  had  disengaged  her 
self  from  the  crowd  across  the  street,  was 
hurrying  toward  him.  At  that  moment, 
a  hall-boy  dived  from  the  entrance,  and 
grabbed  his  arm  urgently  but  respect- 
fully. 

"That  woman 's  been  asking  for  you 
since  four — when  we  chased  her  away  she 
laid  for  you — if  you  want  to  get  inside— 

"Young  man,"  said  the  voice  of  Rosa 
lie  Le  Grange  across  his  shoulder,  "young 
man,  Dr.  Blake  wants  to  see  me  as  much 
as  I  want  to  see  him  an'  more.  Now  you 
jest  leave  go  of  him,  and  you  Dr.  Blake, 
come  right  along  with  me,  or  I  '11  make  a 
scene  and  scandal  right  here  in  front  of 
the  club." 

The  hall-boy,  with  the  exaggerated  de- 
214 


ANNETTE  LIES 

sire  to  avoid  scandal  which  marks  the  per 
fect  club  servant,  fell  away.  As  for  Dr. 
Blake,  this  seemed  the  line  of  least  re 
sistance.  Life  and  death,  misery  and 
happiness — all  looked  equally  dim  and 
rosy. 

Mme.  Le.  Grange  said  nothing  until 
they  were  three  doors  away.  Under  the 
marquee  of  a  restaurant,  she  stopped, 
whirled  Blake,  whom  she  still  held  by  an 
arm,  within  the  entrance. 

"You  Ve  been  drinkin',"  she  said. 
"Now  don't  talk  back.  The  question  in 
my  mind  is  whether  you  're  clear  enough 
in  your  head  to  understand  what  I  've  got 
to  say,  because  it 's  something  you  want 
to  hear  straight  and  quick.  See  that  table 
over  in  the  corner?  Let 's  see  you  walk 
to  it  and  take  off  your  hat  and  pull  out  a 
chair  for  me  an'  tell  the  waiter  we  won't 
eat  till  the  rest  of  our  party  comes.  If 
you  can  do  that,  you  can  listen  to  me." 

Blake,  feeling  that  someone  else  was 
going  through  these  motions,  obeyed. 

"Legs  are  straight,"  commented  Rosa- 
215 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

lie  Le  Grange  as  she  settled  herself  and 
picked  at  her  glove  buttons.  "How 's 
your  head?  Are  you  takin'  in  what  I  tell 
you?" 

"Yes.  I  hear  you.  Why  won't  you 
leave  me  alone?" 

"Tongue  's  pretty  straight,  too.  Can't 
have  much  in  you,  though  you  do  look  like 
the  last  whisper  of  a  misspent  life.  Well, 
men  can't  cry  just  when  they  want  to, 
though  a  woman  knows  they  cry  oftener 
than  any  man  ever  sees.  You  have  to 
take  it  out  in  booze." 

Blake  heard  his  own  voice,  far  away, 
saying : 

"What  did  you  come  for?" 

"You  '11  know  soon  enough.  If  I 
did  n't  have  the  patience  of  an  angel  I  'd 
never  have  waited.  Gee,  those  gentle 
men's  clubs  is  exclusive!  Now  I  want 
you  to  remember  you  're  drunk  and  keep 
quiet  and  not  hurry  me.  I  Ve  got  things 
to  tell  you.  Miss  Markham  came  in  from 
a  walk  this  morning — " 

Dr.  Blake  saw  his  own  hand  lift  in  a 
216 


ANNETTE  LIES 

gesture  of  repulsion,  heard  his  own  voice 
say: 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  about  her." 
"Will  you  kindly  remember,"  said 
Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "that  you  're  sup 
posed  to  be  drunk?  She  came  in  from  a 
walk  this  morning  about  half  past  ten,  in 
a  worse  state  than  I  ever  saw  her.  I 
did  n't  much  care,  way  I  felt  about  her 
then — you  know — now  let  me  go  my  own 
way.  Mrs.  Markham  was  shut  in  her 
room  all  the  morning.  I  was  busy  pack 
ing — I  was  getting  ready  to  send  in  my 
notice  but  didn't,  thank  our  stars — an'  I 
did  n't  run  onto  her  but  once  or  twice. 
She  was  movin'  about  the  house,  and  her 
face  was  like  death. 

"Just  before  lunch,  I  came  down  to  the 
library,  lookin'  for  a  sewin'  basket.  Mrs. 
Markham  was  at  the  table,  writin'  a  note. 
In  meanders  Annette  Markham  an'  be 
gins  to  pull  out  the  books  in  the  library, 
listless.  She  'd  open  one,  flip  the  pages, 
put  it  back  and  open  another.  She  kept 
that  up  quite  some  time.  I  was  n't  no- 
217 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

ticing  special  until  she  took  out  three  or 
four  together,  reached  into  the  space  they 
left  and  pulled  out  a  sizable  gray  book 
that  had  fallen  down  behind  the  stock — or 
been  put  there! 

"Mrs.  Markham  had  just  looked  up, 
and  I  saw  her  git  stiff.  She  spoke  quick 
-'Annette!' — jest  like  that — sharp,  you 
know.  Annette  looked  at  her.  Mrs. 
Markham  reached  over  and  took  the  book 
away.  The  girl,  never  looked  down  at  it 
again,  I  can  swear  to  that — she  was  starin' 
straight  at  her  aunt.  Mrs.  Markham 
dropped  the  book  on  the  table,  but  she 
put  her  elbows  on  it,  and  said :  'I  'd  been 
hunting  everywhere  for  that — I  'm  glad 
you  found  it.'  Annette  never  said  a 
word,  never  tried  to  get  the  book  back; 
she  jest  went  on  rummaging. 

"Well,  one  thing  was  clear.  Mrs. 
Markham  did  n't  want  her  to  git  as  much 
as  a  sight  of  that  book.  Why?  It  was 
about  the  funniest  little  thing  I  'd  seen 
in  that  house.  Better  believe  I  found 
218 


ANNETTE  LIES 

business  in  the  front  parlor  where  I  could 
keep  my  eyes  on  'em.  After  a  minute  or 
two,  Annette  walked  out,  listless  as  ever. 
Soon  as  her  back  was  turned,  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  went  to  the  desk  an'  locked  the  book 
in  the  top  drawer. 

"It  was  an  hour  before  the  coast  was 
clear  for  me  to  git  into  the  parlor  and 
open  that  lock  with  a  skeleton  key  an'  a 
hairpin.  An'  when  I  seen  the  title  of  that 
book — well  it  got  as  clear- 
Blake  saw,  through  the  veil  above  his 
sight,  that  Rosalie's  face  had  broken  out 
dimples  and  sparkles  as  a  yacht  breaks 
out  flags.  It  irritated  him  remotely. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  case?" 
he  asked ;  and  then,  weakly,  "I  don't  want 
to  hear  about  it." 

"If  I  was  to  tell  you,"  persisted  Rosa 
lie  rolling  the  sweets  of  revelation  under 
her  tongue,  "that  jest  the  name  of  the 
book  in  the  secretary  showed  your  girl 
was  all  right  and  you  and  I  was  fools, 
what  would  you  say?" 
219 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

The  veil  lifted  from  Blake.  It  was  he 
himself  who  had  risen  from  his  chair,  was 
leaning  over  the  table,  was  asking: 

"What  do  you  mean?  Tell  me — what 
do  you  mean?" 

Rosalie  herself  rose,  leaned  over  to  meet 
him,  and  whispered  four  words  in  his  ear. 

"See!"  she  added  aloud.     "See!" 

Blake  fell  back  into  his  chair  with  a 
thump. 

"I,  a  doctor  and  a  man  of  science 
and  I  never  thought  once  of  that !  What 
a  damned  fool  I  was!" 

"We  was,"  amended  Rosalie  Le 
Grange. 


220 


XIII 

ANNETTE   TELLS   THE   TRUTH 

TT  seemed  to  Blake,  waiting  in  Rosalie's 
sitting-room  for  a  quarter  of  nine,  that 
this  silent  house  of  mystery  vibrated  sup 
pressed  excitement.  He  sat  with  his 
hands  clenched,  his  body  leaning  forward, 
in  the  attitude  of  one  waiting  the  signal 
to  strike.  Rosalie,  sitting  opposite  him, 
sent  over  a  smile  of  reassurance  now  and 
then,  but  neither  spoke. 

There  was  no  need  of  words.  They 
had  talked  out  the  smallest  detail  of  Rosa 
lie's  plot,  even  to  mapping  the  location  of 
the  furniture.  Inch  by  inch,  objection 
after  objection,  she  had  conquered  his 
cautions  and  scruples;  had  persuaded  him 
that  the  dramatic  method  was  the  best 
method.  When  Blake  entered  the  house, 
nothing  was  left  to  chance  except  the 
221 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

question  whether  Norcross  would  miss  his 
engagement  to  "sit"  with  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham.  Rosalie  settled  that.  From  the 
front  windows,  she  had  observed  the  green 
limousine  automobile  waiting  by  the  curb 
ing  outside;  through  her  open  registers 
she  had  caught  the  murmur  of  conversa 
tion. 

So  even  Rosalie,  whose  tongue  ran  by 
custom  in  greased  grooves,  found  nothing 
to  say  until  the  little  mantel  clock  tapped 
three  times  to  announce  a  quarter  to  the 
hour.  It  brought  Blake  to  his  feet  with 
such  a  jerk  that  Rosalie  shook  both  her 
hands  at  him  by  way  of  caution.  At  the 
door  she  stopped  a  second,  put  her  lips  to 
his  ear. 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you  to  be  brave, 
boy,"  she  said.  "But  keep  your  head  and 
don't  git  independent.  You  do  what  I 
say!" 

She    touched    his    side    pocket,    which 
bulged.     "An'  not  too  brash  with  that!" 
she  added.     "Revolvers  is  good  for  bluffs 
but  bad  for  real  business!" 
222 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

Blake  nodded.  And  for  the  second 
time  they  crept  down  the  silent,  padded 
halls  to  those  apartments  above  Mrs. 
Markham's  alcove  library.  They  ap 
proached,  then,  not  the  closet  door,  but 
the  door  leading  to  that  boudoir  which  he 
had  seen  once  before  through  Rosalie's 
hole  in  the  wall  paper.  Rosalie  applied 
a  key,  turned  it  with  infinite  caution, 
opened  the  door,  motioned  him  in.  The 
room  appeared  as  before.  The  light 
burned  low  over  the  white  desk;  the  por 
tieres  hung  close.  Rosalie  pointed  to  the 
rounded,  further  end  of  the  room — the 
space  where  he  had  seen  the  ghostly  thing 
which  was  Annette  disappear  through  the 
floor.  That  floor  space  was  bare;  a  rug, 
rolled  up,  rested  against  the  further 
wainscot.  Blake  took  it  in,  and  smiled 
at  Rosalie  as  though  to  say,  "everything 
is  ready  I  see!"  Then  for  a  minute  they 
stood  immobile,  listening.  A  murmur  of 
conversation  came  up  from  below,  and  in 
the  room  behind  the  portieres  someone  was 
breathing,  lightly,  regularly.  Rosalie 
223 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

touched  his  arm  and  beckoned.  Moving 
without  sound,  they  lifted  the  portieres, 
stepped  within. 

No  light  inside  that  room,  except  the 
low  radiance  from  a  prone  figure  by  the 
outer  wall.  It  seemed  at  first  that  this 
ghost  of  Annette  lay  suspended  between 
heaven  and  earth.  Blake's  mind  put 
down  the  awe  which  was  stealing  over  his 
senses.  His  eyes  sharpened  until  he  could 
make  out  a  few  details. 

At  the  right,  dimly  suggested,  was  a 
disordered  bed.  Annette  lay  on  a  couch. 
The  robes  swathed  her  from  head  to  foot, 
but  the  veil  over  her  face  was  parted  as 
though  to  give  her  air.  Her  eyes  were 
closed;  her  arms,  with  something  strained 
and  stretched  in  their  attitude,  lay  along 
her  sides. 

And  now  Rosalie  had  her  lips  at  his  ear. 

"Quick!"  she  said. 

Blake  crept  to  Annette's  side  and  spoke 
in  a  low  tone. 

"Annette,  this  is  I — Walter,  your  lover. 
You  belong  to  me.  I  revoke  no  other 
224 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

commands,  but  you  are  to  listen  to  me  also 
and  do  as  I  tell  you.  Answer  me  first. 
You  have  been  commanded  to  rise  when 
you  hear  music?" 

As  by  the  miracle  of  one  speaking  in 
normal  tones  out  of  sleep,  Annette  an 
swered  : 

"Yes." 

"Speak  low.  You  have  been  com 
manded  to  enter  the  other  room  then,  turn 
out  the  light,  lift  a  trap,  let  down  a  rope 
ladder,  descend  it,  and  say  certain 
things?" 

"Yes."  The  tone  was  less  than  a 
whisper. 

"Have  you  been  given  anything  special 
to  say  to-night — has  anything  been  im 
pressed  upon  you?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"After  the  rest,  I  am  to  say:  'Robert, 
they  tell  me  that  the  great  danger  is  near. 
They  give  me  a  message  which  I  do  not 
understand — "Declare  that  dividend  to 
morrow."  You  do  not  know  the  awful 
15  225 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

things  which  will  come  if  you  do  not.' ' 

Blake  could  hear  Rosalie  catch  her 
breath  at  this.  It  came  to  him,  also,  that 
he  had  intervened  at  the  very  climax  of 
Mrs.  Markham's  operation  on  Robert  H. 
Norcross.  But  he  went  on  firmly : 

"Obey  that.  Do  as  you  were  told.  But 
do  something  else.  So  that  you  will  re 
member,  I  am  going  to  whisper  it  in  your 
ear." 

Blake  leaned  over  for  a  minute,  and 
whispered.  Presently  he  raised  himself 
a  little,  so  that  he  bent  over  her  face,  and 
said  in  a  low  speaking  voice: 

"Do  all  that.  I  command  you.  I  am 
Walter,  and  you  must  obey  me.  And  re 
member  especially — when  you  have  done 
it  all,  then  wake — wake  and  do  not  be 
alarmed.  Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  obey?" 

"Yes." 

"You  will  not  be  frightened?" 

"No." 

226 


Rosalie  touched  his  arm.  Blake,  with 
one  last  look  back,  stepped  outside  and 
dropped  the  portieres.  Rosalie  drew  him 
into  the  hall,  softly  locked  the  door,  beck 
oned  him  to  follow  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  And  hard  upon  this  movement, 
the  piano  downstairs  began: 

Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid,  bright 
Alfaretta. 

"Make  no  noise — and  hurry!"  whis 
pered  Rosalie.  Down  the  stairs  they 
went,  and  stationed  themselves  by  the  hall 
door  of  the  drawing-room.  There,  it  was 
pitch  dark.  Without  risk  of  being  seen, 
they  could  look  along  the  dim  reaches  of 
Mrs.  Markham's  parlors.  From  a  point 
above  their  heads,  a  little,  shaded  cabinet- 
lamp  gave  a  fan  of  low  light  which  shone 
full  on  the  dark  curtains  of  the  alcove 
library.  They  could  make  out,  by  his 
white  hair  and  collar,  the  back  of  a  man, 
and  a  shadowy  figure  at  the  piano. 
"Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid"  was  fall 
ing  away  to  its  dying  chord.  Silence  set- 
227 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

tied  again;  the  back  of  the  old  man 
swayed.  Mrs.  Markham  spoke  from  the 
piano  stool: 

"I  feel  your  influence,  Helen.  You 
are  stronger  every  time,  dear,  because  his 
love  grows  stronger.  Come,  dear — 
come." 

A  pillar  of  light  glowed  against  the 
cabinet  curtains.  Norcross  rose;  Blake 
could  catch  a  suggestion  of  his  face  and 
collar  against  the  dark  draperies.  There 
came  the  same  exchange  of  love  words,  of 
pats,  of  caressing  speeches,  which  he  had 
heard  from  the  closet;  even  now,  better 
understood  as  this  thing  was,  the  sound  of 
them  drew  his  ringer  nails  up  into  his 
palms. 

Rosalie's  touch  brought  him  back  to  his 
sense  of  observation.  Here,  now,  came 
the  climax;  here  the  moment  upon  which 
everything  depended.  The  low,  sweet 
contralto  voice  was  saying : 

"They  tell  me  that  the  great  danger  is 
near.  .They  give  me  a  message  which  I 
do  not  quite  understand.  They  say,  'De- 
228 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

clare  that  dividend  to-morrow!'  You 
cannot  know  what  awful  things  will  fol 
low  if  you  do  not." 

Rosalie's  clutch  tightened  on  Blake's 
arm.  For  the  voice  had  ceased  alto 
gether.  A  silent  moment;  then  they  saw 
the  pillar  of  light  become  a  crumpled 
blotch  on  the  floor,  heard  a  sudden  shuffle 
of  feet,  heard  Annette's  voice,  loud,  clear, 
distinct,  crying: 

"This  is  a  lie!  I  am  not  Helen  Whit- 
ton  !  I  am  Annette  Markham.  I  am  not 
a  spirit!  I  am  alive!  You  are  being 
fooled— fooled!" 

There  followed  a  jangle  of  piano  keys, 
as  though  something  had  dropped  upon 
the  keyboard. 

In  that  instant,  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
jerked  the  string  of  the  cabinet  light, 
throwing  the  shutter  wide  open.  The  de 
tails  of  that  group  by  the  curtain  blazed 
into  Blake's  sight  as  he  jumped  forward 
—Annette,  all  in  black,  her  white  gauze 
robes  a  crumpled  heap  at  her  feet,  sway 
ing  in  the  center  of  the  floor;  Norcross  a 
229 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

huddle  against  the  wall;  Mrs.  Markham, 
stiff  as  though  frozen  to  stone,  leaning 
against  the  piano.  More  light  blazed  on 
them;  Blake  knew  that  Rosalie,  according 
to  program,  had  lit  the  gas.  He  reached 
the  curtains  an  instant  before  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham,  roused  to  sudden,  cat-like  action, 
threw  herself  toward  Annette.  Blake 
came  between;  out  of  his  pocket  he 
whipped  the  revolver. 

"I'm  talking  to  you  all!"  he  said. 
"You,  old  fool  over  there,  and  you,  you 
devil!  I  '11  kill  the  first  that  moves!" 

Now  Rosalie  had  slipped  up  beside  Mrs. 
Markham,  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  make  any  fuss,  my  dear.  I  'm 
a  medium  myself  an'  I  've  been  exposed 
four  times.  Take  it  from  me,  your  play 
is  to  be  a  lady — and  a  sport." 

Suddenly,  Mrs.  Markham  lifted  her 
self  from  the  piano  keys  and  spoke: 

"Annette,  my  dear,  control  yourself. 
Come  to  me,  dear — my  poor,  insane  niece. 
Mr.  Norcross,  I  will  explain  these  in- 
230 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

truders  later.  Come  to  me,  dear!"  She 
had  stepped  toward  Blake,  who  stood  with 
his  left  arm  about  Annette.  Blake  felt 
Annette  shrink  away  from  him,  felt  her 
sway  toward  her  aunt.  He  raised  the  re 
volver. 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  he  commanded. 
"Annette,  listen  to  me.  I  control  you 
now — I!  Until  I  say  otherwise,  keep 
your  face  on  my  shoulder.  Do  not  look 
up.  Keep  your  mind  on  what  I  am  say- 
ing." 

Annette's  first  movement  away  from 
him  ceased.  She  gave  a  little  inarticulate 
murmur  of  obedience.  Simply  as  a  child, 
she  settled  her  face  into  the  hollow  of  his 
shoulder. 

He  turned  to  Norcross. 

"You  old  fool—  '  then  he  caught  the 
face  of  him  who  had  been  king  of  the 
American  railroads.  Norcross  had  set 
tled  into  a  chair;  more,  he  had  shriveled 
into  it.  His  mouth  had  fallen  open  as 
from  senile  weakness;  his  eyes,  suddenly 
231 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

grown  old,  glazed  and  peering,  seemed  to 
struggle  with  tears.  His  hands  moved 
uncertainly,  feebly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Norcross,"  he 
said,  "I  came  here  to-night  to  take  away 
this  girl,  whom  I  intend  to  marry,  and 
I  'm  excited.  Now  listen — Annette,  I 
want  you  to  listen  also.  Keep  your  mind 
upon  me  alone,  dear,  and  remember  I  told 
you  not  to  be  frightened.  This  girl  is 
ward  of  that  she-devil  there.  Since  her 
childhood,  Mrs.  Markham  has  been  hyp 
notizing  her — for  her  own  purposes.  So 
good  a  subject  has  she  become  that  Mrs. 
Markham  uses  her  to  play  ghost  for  these 
seances — without  her  own  knowledge — " 

"Stop!"  cried  Mrs.  Markham. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  protested  Rosalie, 
"I  've  been  in  the  house  four  weeks  jest 
watchin'  you  work.  Your  play  is  to  shut 
up  until  you  see  what  we  Ve  got  in  our 
hand.  If  you  don't,  you  '11  put  your  foot 
in  it!" 

As  though  aware  of  her  presence  for 
the  first  time,  Mrs.  Markham  turned  and 
232 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

looked  Rosalie  straight  in  the  face.  And 
as  though  realizing  the  common  sense  in 
this  counsel,  she  seated  herself.  Only  a 
gnawing  at  her  under  lip  indicated  her 
mental  disturbance. 

Now  Annette,  as  though  beginning  to 
realize  the  situation,  was  sobbing  softly. 
Blake  patted  her  shoulder;  and  the 
passion  went  out  of  his  voice.  But  he 
still  held  the  revolver  alert  in  his  free 
hand. 

"Her  method  is  fairly  established.  In 
a  few  minutes,  I  will  permit  you  to  see  the 
trap  between  the  ceiling  of  that  cabinet 
room  there  and  the  floor  of  the  room 
above.  The  trap  is  hollow;  in  it,  for 
safety,  she  keeps  those  phosphorescent 
robes" — he  nodded  toward  the  white  heap 
on  the  floor — "all  her  cabinet  parapher 
nalia,  and  the  notes  on  such  as  you.  Full 
information  on  your  love  affair  with 
Helen  Whitton  has  been  in  that  trap  for 
weeks."  Then,  seeing  how  raw  was  the 
nerve  which  he  had  touched  in  the  old 
man,  he  added: 

233 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  beg  your  pardon  again,  sir;  but  I 
must  speak  of  this.  Mme.  Le  Grange 
there — my  agent  in  this  house — is  an  ex 
pert  on  such  matters.  She  informs  me 
that  those  notes  are  the  work  of  a  private 
detective — that  the  information  comes 
from  an  old  aunt  of  Helen  Whitton  who 
must  have  been  her  confidante.  Do  you 
see  now  what  happened?  Every  night  of 
a  seance,  Mrs.  Markham  has  prepared  for 
you  by  sending  this  girl  to  bed  early — by 
sitting  beside  her  and  putting  her  to  sleep. 
That  is  what  Miss  Markham,  in  her  inno 
cence,  calls  it.  It  is  sleep — the  hypnotic 
sleep.  Miss  Markham  is  in  bad  con 
dition.  Her  nerves  are  those  of  the  over 
worked  hypnotic  horse.  Mrs.  Markham 
has  used  that  as  a  pretext  for  putting  her 
to  bed  early.  Shall  I  particularize?  Do 
I  need  to  go  on?" 

"Oh,  pray  do!  You  are  very  interest 
ing!"  spoke  Mrs.  Markham  from  the 
piano  stool. 

"I  will — since  you  wish  it,"  returned 
Blake  with  an  equal  sarcastic  courtesy. 
234 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

"When  sleep  was  established,  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  made  her  rise  and  dress  herself  in 
those  phosphorescent  robes" — he  pointed 
to  the  gauzy  heap  on  the  floor — "put  her 
back  on  the  couch,  and  gave  her  directions. 
She  was  to  rise  at  a  signal — you  know  it 
— 'Wild  roamed  an  Indian  maid.'  Must 
I  tell  you  any  more?"  he  burst  out.  "Do 
you  know  that  three  nights  ago  I  looked 
into  her  sitting-room  above  that  trap  and 
saw  her — saw  her  go  down  to  you — heard 
what  she  said  to  you!" 

Annette  was  gasping  and  moaning. 

"Oh,  did  I  do  that?"  she  said. 

"No,  sweet,  she  did  it,"  he  said.  He 
turned  to  Rosalie.  "Take  this  revolver 
and  keep  order  for  me.  Annette  ought 
not  to  stand  any  longer."  Still  keeping 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  he  seated  her  be 
side  him  on  a  couch.  "She  has  never 
heard  this  before,  Mr.  Norcross,  and  you 
must  know  what  a  shock  she  is  suffering. 
This  is  a  desperate  case,  and  it  required  a 
desperate  remedy.  That  accounts  for 
this  drama  to-night.  Mme.  Le  Grange 
235 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

there  is  housekeeper  of  this  place,  and  my 
agent.  Putting  her  in  this  house  was  part 
of  the  remedy.  Fifteen  minutes  ago,  she 
and  I  entered  the  room  where  Miss  Mark- 
ham  lay  in  hypnotic  trance,  waiting  to  go 
down  to  you.  I  supplemented  Mrs. 
Markham's  suggestion  by  a  command  of 
my  own — you  know  what  it  was.  I  took 
a  risk.  One  never  knows  whether  a  hyp 
notic  subject — even  such  a  perfect  one  as 
this — will  obey  a  supplementary  sugges 
tion.  Had  it  failed,  had  she  started  back 
toward  the  ladder,  I  should  have  turned 
on  the  lights  and  seized  the  spook  in  the 
vulgar  manner,  and  Mrs.  Markham  would 
have  had  the  thousand  excuses  which  a 
professional  medium  can  give  in  such  cir 
cumstances.  But  Annette  obeyed — she 
even  woke  on  my  command  before  she  had 
fulfilled  the  whole  of  Mrs.  Markham's 
suggestion — because  we  love  each  other. 
That  made  the  difference."  He  drew  An 
nette's  head  closer  on  his  shoulder.  "I  'm 
going  to  take  her  away  to-night.  She  's 
done  with  all  this."  He  turned  to  Mrs. 
236 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

Markham.  Her  hand  still  rested  on  the 
keyboard.  Her  face  was  pale,  but  her 
lips  wore  a  sneering  smile.  "It  is  your 
turn,  Madame,"  he  said. 

"I  lose  gracefully,"  answered  Mrs. 
Markham,  "yet  if  Mr.  Norcross  will  think 
very  carefully,  he  may  realize  that  I  am 
not  all  a  loser." 

Rosalie  crossed  the  room  to  Dr.  Blake. 
"Here,  you  take  this  thing,"  she  said,  ex 
tending  the  revolver,  "it  makes  me  nerv 
ous,  an'  I  told  you  at  the  start  there 
was  n't  no  use  of  it." 

And  now,  something  had  clicked  in 
Norcross  again.  His  mouth  had  closed 
like  a  vise,  light  had  come  back  to  his  eyes ; 
he  was  again  the  Norcross  of  the  street. 

"You  're  a  devil,"  he  said,  "but  you  're 
a  marvelously  clever  woman— 

"So  clever,"  responded  Mrs.  Markham 
in  dulcet  tones,  "that  I  intend  never  to 
worry  about  finances  again — by  your 
leave,  Mr.  Norcross." 

"That  means  blackmail,  I  suppose," 
said  Norcross. 

237 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Now,  Mr.  Norcross,  I  beg  of  you," 
protested  Mrs.  Markham,  "I  have  never 
used  harsh  names  for  unpleasant  truths 
with  you!  Do  me  the  same  courtesy. 
You  will  agree,  I  think,  that  the  Norcross 
interests  would  suffer  if  people  knew  that 
Robert  H.  Norcross  was  running  to  spirit 
mediums — my  business  is  little  appre 
ciated.  The  newspapers,  Mr.  Nor 
cross— 

"Would  any  newspaper  believe  you?" 
asked  Norcross. 

"An  admirable  method,"  responded 
Mrs.  Markham,  "an  admirable  method  of 
getting  these  people  before  the  public  as 
witnesses" — her  gesture  indicated  Dr. 
Blake  and  Rosalie — "would  be  to  sue  for 
custody  of  my  niece,  whom  this  young 
man  intends,  I  believe,  to  take  away  to 
night.  Certain  unusual  features  of  this 
case  would  charm  the  newspapers." 

Rosalie  shook  Blake's  shoulder. 

"Doctor!"  she  cried,  "can't  you  see  what 
she  's  aiming  at?  She  's  trying  to  drag 
us  into  her  blackmailing.  She 's  tryin' 
238 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

to  make  this  look  like  a  plant."  She 
whirled  on  Norcross. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Norcross.  I  '11  tell  you 
what  this  was  done  for!  Do  you  know  a 
youngish  lookin'  man,  smooth-shaven,  neat 
dresser,  gray  eyes,  about  forty-five,  got 
something  to  do  with  Wall  Street,  wears 
one  of  them  little  twisted-up  red  and 
white  society  buttons  in  his  buttonhole, 
has  a  trick  of  holding  his  chin  between  his 
fingers — so — when  he  's  thinkin'  ?  Be 
cause  he  started  it.  He  's  the  nigger  in 
your  woodpile.  He  came  here  a  week  be 
fore  you  ever  saw  Mrs.  Markham,  bring- 
in'  the  notes  about  Helen  Whitton — the 
dope  that  she 's  been  f  eedin'  you.  If 
you  '11  put  that  together  with  what  the 
spirit — she — Miss  Markham,  told  you  to 
night  about  declarin'  dividends— 

"Mrs.  Granger,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Markham,  "you  are  a  shrewd  woman,  but 
you  c  y  your  deductions  a  little  far— 

"D  ictions,  your  grandmother!"  re- 
tortec  losalie  Le  Grange,  "To  think 
how  (  ]e  you  come  to  foolin'  even  me 
239 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

that 's  played  this  game,  girl  and  woman, 
for  twenty-five  years!  If  I  hadn't 
caught  you  so  anxious  to  stop  that  lit 
tle  girl  from  seein'  that  you  kept  'Prac 
tical  Methods  of  Hypnotism'  hid  behind 
the  bookcase,  I  'd  have  gone  away  from 
here  believin'  that  she  was  deep  in  the 
mud  as  you  was  in  the  mire.  You  cer 
tainly  sprung  a  new  one  on  me!" 

The  eyes  of  Norcross  lighted,  as 
though  with  a  new  idea,  and  he  broke  ab 
ruptly  into  this  feminine  exchange: 

"I  do  not  believe  that  this  is  a  plant. 
Mrs.  Markham,  shall  we  bargain?" 

"I  like  the  life  in  London,"  said  Mrs. 
Markham.  "I  have  been  waiting  to  re 
tire." 

"Twenty-five  thousand  dollars?" 

"Oh  dear,  no!     Fifty." 

'Norcross  drew  a  check  book,  flipped  it 
on  his  knee.  Mrs.  Markham  raised  a  pro 
testing  hand. 

"Yes,  you  will — you  '11  take  it  in  a 
check  or  not  at  all,"  he  said.  "I  want  this 
240 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

transaction  recorded.  I  '11  tell  you  why. 
It  is  worth  just  that  to  keep  this  story 
out  of  the  papers.  I  was  caught,  and  I 
pay.  It  is  worth  no  more.  I  will  give 
you  this  check  to-night.  You  will  cash 
it  in  the  morning.  I  shall  have  the  can 
celled  check  as  a  voucher.  If  ever  you 
ask  me  for  a  dollar  more,  you  go  to  State's 
Prison  for  extortion — on  the  testimony  of 
these  three  witnesses.  My  legal  depart 
ment  is  the  best  in  the  country.  In  short, 
it  is  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  me. 
It  is  not  worth  fifty  thousand  and  one. 
Also,  you  sail  to  London  within  a  week. 
Does  that  go?" 

Mrs.  Markham  drummed  a  minute  with 
her  fingers,  and  her  face  went  a  shade 
paler. 

"It  does,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Blake  bent  over  Annette. 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  he  asked.  "Do 
you  know  what  it  means?  It  is  called 
blackmail!" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Paula,  Aunt  Paula!"  whis- 
16  241 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

pered  Annette.  Her  face  settled  closer 
on  Blake's  shoulder,  and  she  burst  into 
a  torrent  of  weeping. 

Rosalie  tiptoed  to  the  desk,  bringing 
pen  and  ink,  which  she  laid  on  the  table 
beside  Norcross.  It  was  quite  evident 
that  one  of  their  number  was  by  this  time 
enjoying  the  situation. 

"Keep  everybody  here  for  three  min 
utes — I  '11  be  back,"  she  said  to  Blake, 
and  floated  out  of  the  door. 

As  Norcross  handed  over  the  check, 
Dr.  Blake  spoke: 

"I  am  taking  Miss  Markham  away. 
She  is  not  to  see  this  woman  again — tak 
ing  her  to  my  aunt's  house.  I,  too,  want 
a  witness.  If  I  have  done  anything  for 
you  to-night,  will  you  return  it  by  setting 
us  down  in  your  automobile?" 

"Certainly,"  responded  Norcross.  "I 
suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you — but  I  Ve 
got  to  think  this  thing  out."  He  scrutin 
ized  Blake  closely.  "How  about  you  and 
the  papers — I  had  n't  thought  of  you— 

Blake,  still  dropping  soft  love  pats  on 
242 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

Annette's  hair  and  shoulders,  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  the  railroad  king. 

"I  have  earned  that  opinion,  I  suppose," 
he  said.  "I  can't  say  that  I  feel  myself 
greatly  superior  to — to  anyone  here — to 
night.  But  I  Ve  done  what  I  started  to 
do.  My  name  is  Blake,  Mr.  Norcross — 
Dr.  Walter  H.  Blake — lately  army  sur 
geon  in  the  Philippines,  if  you  take  my 
profession  as  a  voucher.  My  father  was 
Rear- Admiral  Blake,  if  family  will  help 
establish  me.  Or,  better,  I  intend  to 
marry  this  girl  as  soon  as  the  license  clerk 
will  let  me — and  it  is  n't  likely  that  I  '11 
make  public  anything  that  involves  my 
wife  and  her  people.  Does  that  satisfy 
you?" 

Norcross  ran  his  eye  across  them.  It 
rested  a  moment  upon  Annette;  and  a 
ghost  of  that  late  emotion,  of  which  she 
had  been  the  instrument,  flashed  across 
his  face. 

"I  guess  I  'm  satisfied,"  he  said. 

Now  Rosalie,  in  hat  and  wraps,  stood  at 
the  door  carrying  her  suit  case. 
243 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"Sorry;  to  leave  without  notice,  Mrs. 
Markham,"  she  said,  "but  you  remember 
I  haven't  drawn  no  pay  as  housekeeper 
for  doin'  you  up.  I  guess  we  'd  all  bet 
ter  be  goin'.  Here 's  your  hat,  Dr. 
Blake,  and  a  fur  coat  and  boots  for  Miss 
Markham." 

Paula  Markham,  twirling  the  fifty 
thousand  dollar  check  idly  in  her  fingers, 
rose  from  the  piano  stool. 

"I  wish  you  to  listen,  Dr.  Blake,"  she 
said,  "although  you  may  not  believe  it,  I 
am  really  fond  of  Annette.  The  tempta 
tion  to  use  her  became  too  strong.  Be 
lieve  me,  I  have  intended  for  some  time 
to  stop  it.  I  had  stopped  it  in  fact,  when 
this  big  fish  came  to  my  net.  You  have 
seen,  no  more  keenly  than  I,  how  hard  it 
was  on  her  nerves.  Take  her  away  and 
give  her  a  good  time — she  needs  it.  In 
deed,  had  you  come  into  her  life  a  little 
later,  I  should  have  welcomed  you — for 
after  I  found  that  she  had  no  clairvoyance 
in  her,  I  wanted  her  to  be  happy." 

"You  had  an  admirable  way  of  show- 
244 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

ing  it,"  responded  Dr.  Blake.  "What 
about  putting  aside  earthly  love  for 
strength?" 

"It  kept  off  the  undesirables,"  said  Mrs. 
Markham,  "and  just  then — with  this 
large  order  in  hand — you  were  an  un 
desirable.  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  let  me 
see  her  for  the  present — indeed,  I  am  go 
ing  away — but  years  from  now,  when  you 
and  she  have  softened— 

"When  her  will  is  built  up — perhaps." 

"May  I  kiss  her?"  For  the  first  time 
in  his  experience  of  her,  Blake  traced  a 
note  of  feminine  softness  in  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham's  tones. 

Blake  took  the  back  of  the  little  head 
firmly  in  his  hand,  pressed  the  face  tightly 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Her  cheek — yes.  You  must  not  look 
into  her  eyes." 

As  Mrs.  Markham  lifted  her  face  from 
Annette's  cheek,  the  tears  showed  under 
her  lids. 

"But,  oh,  Annette,"  she  whispered,  "I 
ask  you  to  believe  that  I  am  real — that 
245 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

once  I  was  all  real — but  I  fell  like  the 
rest." 

For  the  first  time  Annette  spoke  coher 
ently. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Paula — it  breaks  my  heart 
—but  I  will  try  to  remember  only  how 
kind  you  were." 

And  now  Rosalie  had  wrapped  her  for 
the  street;  and  now  the  door  closed  be 
tween  Mrs.  Markham  and  her  biggest 
operation. 

Rosalie  was  first  to  quit  the  automobile 
— she  had  asked  Norcross  to  drive  her  to 
a  woman's  hotel. 

"Good-night,  people,"  she  said  cheerily 
at  the  curb,  "I  hope  it  ain't  good-by  to 
any  of  you.  Doctor,  I  'd  like  to  be  in 
vited  to  the  weddin',  however  private— 
that 's  my  tip.  When  I  git  settled  again, 
I  '11  send  you  my  card  an'  address. 
Good-night,  Mr.  Norcross,  I  'm  real 
pleased  to  have  met  you.  I  had  a  cousin 
who  was  a  conductor  on  one  of  your  roads 
an'  he  always  spoke  nicely  of  the  way  he 
246 


ANNETTE  TELLS  THE  TRUTH 

was  treated.  An',  oh,  yes!  Don't  you 
worry  about  me  givin'  any  of  this  away. 
I  'm  a  medium,  all  right,  but  I  ain't  in 
that  kind  of  work.  I  ain't  recommendin' 
myself,  of  course,  Mr.  Norcross,  but  if 
you  git  over  this — they  generally  do — an' 
want  some  good,  straight  clairvoyant 
work  done,  write  Mme.  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  care  the  Spirit  Truth  Bulletin, 
an'  I  '11  recommend  you  to  them  that  are 
strangers  to  graft.  Good-night." 

After  they  drove  on,  Blake,  brazenly 
patting  and  caressing  Annette  toward 
calm  and  a  right  mind,  furtively  noticed 
Norcross  as  the  bands  of  city  light  flashed 
his  figure  into  view.  He  was  huddled  in 
a  corner  of  the  cushioned  seat;  he  looked 
again  the  pitiful,  broken,  disappointed  old 
man.  But  when  he  parted  from  the 
lovers  at  the  curb  of  an  old  house  in  Lex 
ington  Avenue,  his  voice  came  out  of  him 
with  certainty  and  ring. 

"If  I  can  do  anything  more  for  you 
in  this  matter,  I  am  at  your  service," 
Blake  had  said. 

247 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  will  attend  to  the  rest  myself,  thank 
you!"  answered  Norcross. 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,"  continued 
Blake,  "that  Mrs.  Markham  will  commu 
nicate  at  once  with  whatever  confederates 
she  had  in  this  business.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind  my  mentioning  it." 

"Probably,"  responded  Norcross,  "she  's 
at  the  telephone  now.  That 's  my  part 
of  it.  Good-night." 


248 


XIV 

MAINLY   FEOM   THE   PAPERS 

(From  the  Wall  Street  Sun,  Oct.  21,  190—) 
Whatever  motive  impelled  Robert  H.  Nor- 
cross  to  his  mysterious  operations  in  L.  D.  and 
M.  during  the  past  two  days,  it  looks  rather 
like  stock  manipulation  than  the  larger  financ 
ing  which  has  hitherto  marked  his  career. 
When,  on  Wednesday,  the  directors  of  the  L.  D. 
and  M.  adjourned  without  declaring  a  dividend, 
that  stock,  which  had  advanced  somewhat  owing 
to  the  speculative  trading  of  the  past  three 
weeks,  fell  from  56  to  50,  and  closed  weak  at 
4914.  Directly  after  the  close  of  the  exchange, 
Norcross,  as  though  by  program,  reconvened 
the  directors,  who  declared  a  dividend  of  one  and 
one-half  per  cent.  The  news  was  about  by  the 
time  the  market  opened  yesterday,  andL.  D.  and 
M.  made  the  record  jump  of  the  year,  going  to 
76  and  closing  strong  at  75^.  It  scarcely 
went  below  that  point  to-day,  and  at  two  o'clock 
touched  its  highest  notch — 763/4-  Considerable 
criticism  of  Norcross  was  heard  on  the  street 
to-day. 

249 


(From  the  Wall  Street  Sun,  Oct.  24,  190—) 

BROKERAGE  FIRM  ASSIGNS 

The  firm  of  Bulger  and  Watson,  promoters 
and  Stock  Exchange  operators,  made  an  assign 
ment  this  morning.  Liabilities  $276,125;  as 
sets  $81,300.  Thjs  failure  followed  the  collapse 
of  the  Mongolia  Copper  Mine  in  Montana,  news 
of  which  reached  New  York  last  Saturday. 
Bulger  and  Watson  were  heavily  interested  in 
that  property.  An  unusual  feature  of  this  fail 
ure,  according  to  those  on  the  inside,  was  the  ac 
tion  of  Arthur  Bulger,  senior  member  of  the 
firm,  in  the  L.  D.  and  M.  flurry  of  last  Wednes 
day  and  Thursday.  Bulger,  it  is  said  by  those 
who  know  his  affairs  best,  had  speculated  heavily 
in  L.  D.  and  M.,  playing  for  a  rise.  On  the 
eve  of  the  fluky  directors'  meeting  of  last 
Wednesday — which,  it  will  be  remembered,  ad 
journed  without  action  only  to  reconvene  after 
market  hours  and  declare  a  dividend — Bulger 
began  through  his  brokers  to  unload.  It  is  be 
lieved  that  he  was  acting  upon  some  advance  in 
side  information  of  the  directors'  action.  He 
was  sold  clean  out  of  this  stock  when  the  market 
closed  Wednesday  afternoon.  Had  he  held  on, 
250 


MAINLY  FROM  THE  PAPERS 

the  firm  would  doubtless  have  been  able  to  sur 
vive  the  Mongolia  crash,  for  L.  D.  and  M.,  fol 
lowing  the  unexpected  action  of  the  directors 
in  declaring  a  dividend,  jumped  on  Thursday 
from  50  to  the  neighborhood  of  75.  The  fail 
ure  will  involve  no  other  firms,  it  is  thought. 

As  the  curve  of  Sandy  Hook  blotted 
from  sight  the  last,  low  glimpse  of  the 
skyscrapers  which  point  Manhattan, 
Blake  touched  Annette's  arm.  She 
turned  from  her  reveries;  the  distance 
faded  from  her  eyes. 

"It 's  the  end  of  a  life  for  you — that," 
he  said.  "We  don't  see  New  York  again 
for  two  years.  We  're  going  back  over 
the  girlhood  you  never  had — you  're  go 
ing  to  dance  and  motor  and  walk — yes 
and  coquette,  too — or  as  much  as  you  care 
to  with  me  as  a  husband.  For  two  years, 
you  're  just  going  to  play!" 

Then,   noticing  the  expression  of  the 
dog  who  beholds  his  master  with  which 
her    sapphirine    eyes    regarded    him,    he 
dropped  his  hand  on  hers. 
251 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MYSTERY 

"But  most  of  all,  dearest,"  he  added, 
"you  're  going  to  do  what  you  want  to 
do!  Not  what  I  or  any  one  else  com 
mands,  but  just  as  your  own  sweet  will 
dictates — Light  of  mel" 


THE  END 


252 


A     000127553     6 


